


Don't Leave Me Now

by Padria95



Series: No One Left Behind [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And that ending was beautiful but I need them to live, Angst, Because I can..., Bodhi POV, Bodhi needs a hug, Bodhi's A Good Man, Cassian Hurt, Cassian POV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fist Fights, Flashback of a Cassian and Kay Mission, Gen, Han POV, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jyn POV, Luke POV, Mild Description Of Injury, Nightmares, Protective Cassian Andor, Protective Jyn, Rogue One Spoilers, Shenanigans, Some Fluff, Team Bonding, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padria95/pseuds/Padria95
Summary: People leave. It's a rule of Jyn's life. They always abandon you and let you down eventually, given enough time. Until someone came into her life who didn't. Someone who always chose to come back. Will he come back one more time?Or: They make it off of Scarif, but not unscathed. There's healing to be done and friendships to be made, plus there's still the planet killing Death Star that needs to be destroyed.Continues directly from the (alternate) ending of Rogue One and goes through the events of A New Hope and beyond. Can be read as a stand alone, without reading part 1 in the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I am joining the ranks of people writing a different ending. I wasn't planning to, but then this idea came to me and wouldn't let go until I wrote it down. Yes, the movie's original ending was beautiful and fitting and a bold move, but I still need to write a different ending. Because everyone needs to live. And because Cassian Andor is awesome.
> 
> This is my first Star Wars fic, so hopefully it's not terrible. Also, I have only seen the movie once and am going off of memory, so there may be some mistakes that I am miss-remembering.
> 
> Also, though this says it is the second in a series, you do not have to read the first in the series in order to read this story. It continues directly from the (alternate) ending of Rogue One, so you only need to have seen the movie. The first in the series is a prequel (with no Rogue One spoilers) that you can read or not read.

As the horizon disappears before her eyes, erupting into the ever darkening sky, Jyn clings to the one person who has not abandoned her… who has never abandoned her. He’s had four chances, four times when no one would have questioned his decision to leave her behind, to let her go… but he never did. 

*

Jedha: he’d had the information he’d needed, he’d had the living proof before him in the form of Bodhi, but he’d come back for her. He’d had every right to leave—he barely knew her, she’d made her contempt for the Rebellion quite clear, she’d given him no reason to trust her, hadn’t felt like giving him a reason to trust her—but he hadn’t. Even amidst the crumbling caverns where each rumble of the ceiling threatened a collapse that would surely kill him, he’d come and pulled her to her feet, urged her faster through the falling stones and all the way onto the safety of the ship.

It was a new experience for her, having someone go against their own self-preservation instincts and put their own life at risk for her sake. During her time with Saw Gerrera, the motto was: look out for yourself and no one else. If a comrade went down or was left behind, no one went back for them. She’d taken this to heart, particularly once Saw Gererra abandoned her six years before. Not once had she considered defending someone else at the risk of her own life, until she’d seen the crying girl in the middle of a firefight on Jedha. That girl had reminded her of innocence and loss and of what Jyn had not allowed herself when she witnessed her mother’s death. 

But Jyn was not a lost, innocent child screaming for help in the middle of a firefight when Cassian came back for her. To him, she was sure she’d been nothing but a stubborn, self-absorbed, ungrateful pain in the ass. Apparently that hadn’t mattered to him.

*

Eadu: his mission had been accomplished—Galen Erso was dead—though not by his hand, and all he’d had to do was return to the U-Wing and leave. Instead he’d made his way onto the platform under heavy enemy fire and once again asked her to go with him, when she’d wanted nothing more than to lie down next to her father and join him and her mother in death. 

At first she’d been in too much shock to contemplate why the Kriff he’d done that, and then she’d been too furious when she’d discovered he’d been sent to assassinate her father. She’d pressed and prodded at him verbally, looking for any chink in his armor of a calm, cool and calculating Captain, and when she’d found it, she’d sunk her knife in and twisted. Hard. She’d finally gotten a reaction, but he’d surprised her. If she hadn’t been hurting psychologically as much as she was, she would have recognized the validity of what he’d been saying—Force, she certainly recognized it now, as the end loomed before them. 

At the time she hadn’t cared what he said, because nothing he could say would have changed the fact that he’d almost chosen to kill her father. She hadn’t listened then, but the conversation echoes endlessly in her head now. She has so many questions she’ll never get to ask. Why _hadn’t_ he taken the shot? What had stopped him? Why had he come back for her? And what makes a six year old join a Rebellion?

*

Yavin 4: this time, he’d finally walked away from her without turning back, proving her theory that everyone leaves eventually, given enough time. Or so she’d thought. And she wouldn’t have blamed him, given the pain her words had obviously caused. She’d stood alone, pleading to the Council, pleading for a cause that she hadn't believed in the day before. But she believed in it then, with all her heart, and she’d thought maybe she was beginning to understand what motivates Cassian Andor, how a person could believe in a cause and an idea so much that he would do anything to see it succeed, even at the cost of his own physical and mental health. 

She’d left the meeting disheartened and furious, unsure of what to do next. And then he’d returned, with an entire force of volunteer rebels who believed in the Cause just as much as he did and were willing to trust him and follow him, even while disobeying the will of the Council. He’d given her a home—even if just for a few fleeting moments—and his forgiveness. In turn, she gave him hers.

*

Scarif: when he’d been hit by the blaster and fallen two stories, striking beam after beam, she’d screamed his name. In anger and in fear, because here, finally, was someone who had three times had the choice to leave her, to abandon her, and three time had chosen to stay. Now that she’d finally had someone who stayed by her side by choice, in a cruel twist of fate, the universe had taken that choice away from him and in turn taken him away from her. She’d only been able to spare a moment to look at his motionless body lying on the grate stories below her, before she’d had to wrench her eyes away from the sight and climb. Climb. Climb. She’d thought he was gone, that he’d finally abandoned her, though it hadn’t been his choice.

And then, staring Krennic down, defiance flowing through every vein in her body, she’d known she would die alone and oh how fitting that would be. Everyone left her, so why not be alone at the end, too? When she’d heard the telltale sound of a blaster, she’d flinched in response, prepared for pain and death… but even then, she hadn’t been alone. When she’d opened her eyes, she could hardly believe what she saw. Cassian Andor, standing before her—well, leaning heavily on a pillar—holding the blaster he’d just fired to save her life. He’d climbed all the way up the tower while injured—she didn’t know how badly, but the thuds of his body striking the metal beams were still reverberating in her head—and come back.

*

She wants to ask him why, why he didn’t leave her, but she thinks she’s beginning to understand. Because it’s who he is. Cassian Andor is not the kind of man who leaves someone behind. He’s the kind of man who stands and fights for what he believes in, who takes hits for the sake of the greater good, who protects those around him but will never allow himself to be called a hero, even though she sees so clearly that that’s exactly what he is.

So she clings to this man as the world falls apart, she hugs him close in an effort to convey her thanks and gratitude that words can no longer express; the roar of a wounded planet is too loud. She feels his arms tighten around her, though not as tightly as she holds him—he is dying after all. During their trip down the elevator and onto the beach, she had had to support more and more of his weight, though she could see him trying his hardest not to burden her. His breathing had grown more and more labored and his uniform had gotten darker and darker from the blaster wound in his side. 

And all of a sudden, he’s pulling away, and she wants to rage because she thinks it’s the strength of the Death Star’s blast that’s finally reached them—though it still appears far off on the horizon—and is forcing them apart, forcing them to face the end alone, but then he’s pulling her to her feet and shouting something she can’t hear over the roaring wind. His hands on her shoulders turn her and push her forwards. She’s confused for a moment, until her eyes land on what she hadn’t seen because she faced the ocean: Rogue One landing just a little distance away, hatch already open with Baze motioning furiously to them.

One step after another, she and Cassian race to their miracle.

As they stumble on board and collapse to the floor on their backs, the hatch closing and the transport rocketing into the sky, she realizes she’s rarely hoped for anything, too jaded and pessimistic. She hadn’t hoped to be rescued, she’d been so sure in the knowledge that their ship had been destroyed. She hadn’t hoped that her friends would survive, because surely that would be impossible. But here they are and here the ship is, ready to spirit them away from the doomed base. Now that she has something she’d never even dared to hope for, she couldn’t imagine life without it. She has someone who she knows will stand by her through thick and thin—who has done it four times already—and she suspects she has a whole family of someone’s in this shuttle ready to stand with her, if she gives them the chance. 

Baze pulls Jyn into a seat and leaves her to strap herself in, immediately turning back and placing Cassian in the seat to her right and helping him with the buckles. Jyn turns to her left and sees Chirrut sitting next to her, his head leaned back against the ship, eyes closed and a small smile on his face. Baze settles in on Chirrut’s far side, buckling in quickly and reaching over to place a hand on Chirrut’s side, where Jyn can see a dark stain spreading. Bodhi yells from the pilot’s seat to hang on to something, so she does. She curls her hand around Cassian’s and thinks that rebellions are not the only things built on hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are mine. This may become a two shot, depending on what you guys think.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Please, you promised to try, so please keep trying,” she begs, feeling the transport touchdown. “Please,” she whispers, her voice no more than a breath of air, “please don’t leave me now.”

Of course, that’s when their moment of serenity and relief that they are still alive and escaping, ends. It starts slowly at first, just a small cough here and there on her right. She turns to her left, first, to check on Chirrut.

“How is he?” she asks Baze, making eye contact across the blind man’s figure.

“He,” Chirrut speaks up from between them, “will be fine. It’s just a small graze.” 

“It’s a little more than a graze,” Baze counters gruffly, “but he’ll live.”

“See?” Chirrut raises his eyebrows, eyes still closed, “like I said: I will be fine.”

“You could still use some bacta. Bodhi!” Baze shouts towards the cockpit, “are we stabilized?!”

“Yes!” the pilot calls back.

Grumbling under his breath, Baze begins unbuckling himself, all the while maintaining a grip on Chirrut’s side.

“Wait,” Jyn stops him, “I’ll get it.” She starts to release the straps on her shoulders when the coughing to her right begins to grow in intensity. She turns to Cassian with concern, seeing his face is pale and that his head hangs forward as he coughs into his hand. She places her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, she knows, because of course he’s not. But their completely unexpected rescue has momentarily lulled her into a sense of security. They’re safe. They’re not dying. 

Cassian nods, waving her off, but he doesn’t speak. Jyn frowns at this and stands, hurrying to the med-kit and quickly bringing it back to the floor in front of the Captain. She pulls a bacta patch out and hands it to Baze, who nods his thanks and immediately tears into it. She's ripping open another one to give to Cassian when his coughing gets worse and his hand drops from his mouth to his side, as if he no longer has the strength to lift it. Jyn’s eye is drawn to it and she’s horrified to see it coated in blood. Blood he’s been coughing up from his lungs. Her eyes fly to Cassian’s face. His eyes are closed and he’s no longer coughing, instead his breathing is labored and his head leans back against the ship’s wall. 

“Cassian,” she calls sharply. 

No response.

“Cassian!” she yells more loudly. 

Still no response.

She leaps forward, frantically unbuckling his seatbelt, knowing she should have checked on him sooner. She’d felt him dying on the beach for Kriff’s sake! She grasps his face in her hands and shakes his head. “Cassian, open your eyes.”

Baze appears by Jyn’s side as Chirrut reaches across the empty seat and places his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. He hums in discontent, his unseeing eyes now open. “His core is damaged. Ribs are compressing his lungs, as is blood that is bleeding internally.” 

Baze nods grimly as he gently pulls Cassian from the seat and places him on the floor. Jyn immediately cuts his uniform partially, enough to reveal the nasty burn on his right side, which is bleeding steadily. She inhales sharply. It’s so much worse than she thought. How had he stayed conscious this long without letting on to the incredible amount of pain he must be in? And how in the world had he climbed hundreds of feet to the top of the tower, leaking blood from the gaping wound in his side the whole way? She slaps the patch she’d ripped open onto the wound. It’s not nearly large enough to even begin to cover the area and she’s already reaching for a second, leaving a hand on his side to continually apply pressure, when Chirrut thrusts two opened bandages towards her. Thanking him, she adds them to the one already on Cassian’s side, finally covering his injury. 

“Bodhi,” she yells towards the front of the transport, “how long to Yavin?” 

“Uh, fifteen minutes!” he replies.

“Blast!” she curses. Cassian has yet to stir and his breathing is becoming more and more labored. “Bodhi, we don’t have that kind of time!”

Cut off from the rest of them as he is, she knows Bodhi has no idea what is going on, but from his reply Jyn can tell he’s caught on to the desperation of the situation. “We’re maxed out already, I’m sorry!” he cries, frustration and apology clear in his voice. 

“Well then call ahead and alert a medical team that we will need them the moment we land!”

“A medical team?” Bodhi demands, panic clear in his voice. “Has Chirrut gotten worse?”

“No, my friend,” the blind man speaks up calmly to soothe the pilot’s fears, “but I’m afraid the Captain is not well.”

“Cassian,” Jyn murmurs, leaning over him to clasp his face and lift his head carefully from the ground, “Cassian, you need to open your eyes.” 

His eyelids remain firmly shut.

She swears loudly. “Cassian! Open your eyes! Now!” she orders forcefully.

Ever so slowly, his eyelids flutter open until his gaze is locked on hers. His brown eyes are hazy with pain, but he blinks them a few times and they focus. 

“There you are,” she greets him in relief. “Don’t scare us like that.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in the ghost of a smile and Jyn both loves him and hates him for his attempt at lightheartedness. “Sorry,” he whispers, so quietly she can barely hear it. 

“That’s okay,” she reassures him softly, “just promise not to do it again.”

He frowns at this, glancing down towards his torso where Baze is still working, attempting damage control, then his gaze returns to Jyn. “…try my best,” he mumbles.

“No,” she counters harshly, “you have to promise.”

His warm brown eyes hold onto hers and there’s a strength in them from which she can’t look away. It’s Cassian’s strength and he’s sharing it with her through his gaze: his cool collection under fire, his calm leadership, his unwavering loyalty, his hidden kindness, his incredible skill as a captain and intelligence officer, and his quiet intensity. She desperately wants to close her eyes and look away when a hint of sadness enters his, but she can’t… she knows it’s his way of telling her that he can’t do that. He won’t make a promise he might break. 

“Okay,” she assents reluctantly, “just promise to try, okay? Promise to try.” 

He closes his eyes for a moment as he nods his head, which she releases from her grasp, reaching for one of his hands instead. She won’t let him go. 

He winces a little when Baze prods a particularly tender area, but other than that shows no signs of pain. The warrior murmurs an apology then sits back on his heels. “That’s all I can do.” 

Cassian nods his thanks, grasping Jyn’s hand just a little tighter. “The plans?” he whispers.

She bites her lip, unsure of the answer. “We still don’t know if anyone was listening.”

“They were listening,” Chirrut interrupts firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I know they were listening.”

This seems to content Cassian as his body starts to relax a little. “We did it, then, eh?”

“Yes, little brother,” Baze’s voice rumbles through the ship, “we did it.” 

“Good,” he sighs, letting go of Jyn’s hand and letting his own fall to the floor. 

Jyn immediately snatches it back as his eyes start to close. “No,” she hisses vehemently. “No no no no no, Cassian Andor you do not get to do this! You can’t do this now!” she cries, reaching with her other hand to cradle his head and shake it, desperately hoping to keep him awake. 

His eyes remain slits but he doesn’t answer and Jyn doesn’t think he can at this point, because blood is beginning to bubble from his mouth. 

“Help me turn him, please!” she begs, and Baze and Chirrut quickly shift him onto his left, less injured side. Baze leaves his hands on Cassian's shoulders in order to steady him through the weak coughs that now wrack his form.

With the former guardians doing all they can to help Cassian’s body, Jyn focuses on his mind. She lies down on her right side so that she’s facing him, eyes level with his, both of her hands squeezing his right one. “Cassian,” she calls. “Cassian? Look at me. Focus on me.”

Blood falls from his mouth and his eyes are only at half mast, but they’re still open and he’s still watching her and that’s enough.

“You’re going to be okay,” she promises with more confidence than she feels. “We’re almost at Yavin and once we get there medical will fix you up. You’ll be back to lurking in the shadows, recruiting for the Rebellion and royally mucking up the Empire’s plans in no time.”

His eyes are almost closed now and Jyn can sense how hard he is fighting to stay with her, to keep his promise. His hand still grasps hers weakly. 

She can feel the ship slowing down, it’s come out of hyperspace and must be approaching the base for landing, but it’s going too slowly. Agonizingly slowly. How could the galaxy be so cruel to give her someone she’d never known she needed—someone who never left her—only to take him away the moment she realizes it? The moment she finally understands that there's someone who will stay with her? Has chosen time and again to come back for her? She wants to scream at the injustice, but all she does—all she can do—is stay with this man who has always stayed with her.

Cassian squeezes her hands with all of the strength he has left, meets her gaze through his eyelashes, then his eyes close and his body goes limp. 

“No,” she croaks in denial. “Please.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Please, you promised to try, so please keep trying,” she begs, feeling the transport touchdown. “Please,” she whispers, her voice no more than a breath of air, “please don’t leave me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic decided it is definitely not a one shot. It will have multiple chapters, probably five but possibly more. There is more to come and more of the other characters, though yes this fic will continue to focus on Cassian and Jyn.  
> Hope you enjoy! If you have any thoughts or ideas as to what you would like to see, I am open to suggestions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can hope, Bodhi, because we must and because hope is what holds us together. Hope is what got us onto Scarif, hope is what brought as home, and hope is an idea that cannot die.”
> 
> Or, Bodhi gets a much needed hug and then they're off to medical.

His hand is ripped from hers as the med team swarms in and Jyn has to stop herself from snatching it back, has to force herself to allow Baze to pull her back to the edge of the shuttle where they are out of the way. 

“Severe blaster wound to his side, injured leg, broken ribs, signs of internal bleeding and punctured lung, unresponsive,” a droid rattles off after an initial scan.

As the droid finishes conveying its readings, the head medic races in and shouts, “Get him on a stretcher now!” before speaking quickly into his intercom, “bay five had better be totally clear by now! We’ll be coming in fast and critical!” The medic finally glances at the face of the wounded man being transferred onto a hoverboard and pauses for a moment. “Andor?” he asks in disbelief, and Jyn isn’t sure if it’s because the man hadn’t thought anyone would make it back from Scarif or because he hadn’t known Cassian had been on the mission in the first place.

She doesn’t have any more time to think about it, though, as the team disappears down the ramp and is gone. Cassian is gone. 

A second, less urgent and frantic medical team enters to collect Chirrut, who initially tries to refuse but after a stern look from Baze—“You’re glaring at me, aren’t you?” “What ever gave you that impression?” “I can feel a bubble of disapproval oozing towards me from your direction.” “Well then you’d be right. Get on the stretcher. Now.” “I can walk perfectly fine. It’s my side not my leg that is injured.” Silence. “Fine, I will get on the stretcher so your bad energy will stop tickling my nose.”—he assents and the pair leave. 

A droid approaches Jyn. “Would you like me to assist you to the medical bay?” it queries in a calm voice, a voice that feels so out of place from the chaos that just departed the shuttle and is still tumbling inside her. “I have detected that you have a sprained ankle as well as many bruises and less serious injuries, and have calculated that it might be difficult for you to make it there on your own. I would like to offer assistance.”

“That’s,” she has to clear her throat before continuing, “that’s not necessary,” she croaks out. “I’ll manage on my own.” 

The droid looks her up and down. “It seems unlikely you will ‘manage on your own.’”

“I said I’ll manage!” she yells. “Now get out!” This droid is reminding her too much of K2 and she can’t handle it, doesn’t want to deal with it right now. She’d just begun to like the reprogrammed droid, felt they were coming to an understanding, when… “Leave!” 

The droid stares at her for a moment, before, “I’m detecting elevated stress and emotion levels. I will leave you in peace to calm down and recommend that you proceed to medical soon.” Moments later, it’s gone.

Silence reigns in the empty bay of the shuttle and she soaks it in for a moment, trying to collect herself. She wonders briefly why the Council or someone from high command hasn’t descended on her, demanding a report, perhaps even throwing her in detention since she did disobey direct orders—though that possibility seems unlikely given the outcome of the mission—but she’s thankful for the reprieve. She thinks it’s maybe because she’s not a priority right now. Damage control is. Damage control and making sure no Imperial pilots followed them or learned of the base’s location. 

Speaking of Imperial pilots, she realizes a certain ex-Imperial pilot has not yet appeared from the overhead cockpit. “Bodhi?” she calls quietly, voice too wrecked to project very far. “Bodhi?” she calls again, heaving herself to her feet when he doesn’t answer. 

She winces as she puts weight on her sprained foot but limps determinedly towards the ladder, hauling herself up one rung at a time. Her head clears the floor and she sees the man sitting in the pilot’s chair. He doesn’t turn at the noise of her entrance, though she’s rather loud about it, no longer bothering to muffle her groans as she forces her battered body to move. It takes her sitting down heavily in the co-pilots seat to draw his attention. He glances at her, but immediately turns away.

“Bodhi? Are you all right?” 

He nods quickly, still turned away.

She’s already had one person pull that on her today and it ended in disaster, she’s not about to let someone else do it. “Bodhi!” she thunders, hoping to snap him out of whatever space in his head he has gone to, “are you all right?” 

She succeeds in getting him to flinch, but he only hums noncommittally.

She sighs in exasperation. “Let me rephrase that. Bodhi, it’s clear you’re not all right. I’m asking you because I am concerned about your well-being and I’m not about to let another friend start dying in front of my eyes, gasping for every breath, because frankly I can’t do that again…” she’s pleading by the end, images of blood and burns flashing before her eyes before she’s able to thrust them away. She can’t do anything for Cassian right now, but she can do something for Bodhi.

He finally looks towards her and swallows guiltily. “Well,” he starts, “I’m not dying, I promise you that, but I’ll admit I could go to medical.” He gestures to his right arm. “My arm’s a little messed up from when a trooper tried to blow up the ship with a fragmentation grenade.”

Jyn draws in breath quickly, but he cuts her off before she can continue. 

“It’s all right,” he assures her, “I was able to throw it out of the ship, just some of the shrapnel made it back in.”

“Okay,” Jyn lets out slowly, sure there’s something more, “but I get the feeling that’s not really the problem.” She can see how tense he is, the tightness of his face, the suppressed panic in his eyes which she’s sure is reflected in her own, and the way his left leg is bouncing up and down. Nonstop. Like her, he’s new to the whole idea of the rebellion and sacrificing oneself for the sake of something greater. Until a few days ago, she doubts he’d seen more than a few mild skirmishes—if that—given his job as a transport pilot. 

“I just, I just… it’s just a little… overwhelming?” he stammers, sounding unsure of his answer.

She huffs at that. “Biggest understatement of the year.”

That draws a tiny smile to his face, which is quickly wiped away when he meets her eyes. There’s a world of pain and sadness present in them and Jyn’s heart aches at their lost confidence and determination. “So many people, Jyn,” he whispers, “and what’s it all for? Was it even worth it? Who’s to say the Empire doesn’t destroy us tomorrow or the next day? How can we hope to stop them?”

She doesn’t feel like she has the emotional or mental capacity to be a leader or give an inspiring speech right now, but she knows he needs something to hold onto and all she can do is fall back on words first uttered to her days ago, which she’s latched onto with all her heart. She rubs her face tiredly before she leans across the aisle and places her hand on his uninjured shoulder, squeezing firmly. “We can hope, Bodhi, because we must and because hope is what holds us together. Hope is what got us onto Scarif, hope is what brought as home, and hope is an idea that cannot die.” 

She pauses, before revealing, “I think I’ve come to understand that hope is what keeps us living. No, it’s not what keeps us alive, because for years I never hoped and only relied on my skills to survive,” she admitted. “But hope is what gives meaning to the lives we live. What are we without it? I know I was an isolated young woman going day to day without inspiration, trying my hardest not to feel anything and not to make plans for the future.” She gives him a tired smile. “And look at me now. A rebel who just fought for a cause she’s begun to believe in, who fought alongside her friends and who has given the Alliance a chance… maybe a chance is all we need. 

“And look at you: a man who stood up against the only system you’ve ever known simply because you felt in your _heart_ that it was wrong. You’ve believed in the Rebellion longer than I have, even though you grew up in and were surrounded by the Imperial organization. You’re a good man, Bodhi Rook, so don’t give up hope now.” 

Tears gather in his eyes and he nods. She reaches across the aisle to embrace him—mindful of his injuries. He returns the hug wholeheartedly and she allows herself to break down just a little as a small sob escapes her lips. He’s a friend, after all, and there’s no shame in showing weakness to a friend. 

He pulls away eventually and murmurs his thanks, wiping the moisture from his face. 

Jyn follows suit, attempting to put her walls back up and steel herself for whatever comes next. “Right, off to medical. You have to get looked at, we should make sure Baze and Chirrut’s bickering isn’t disturbing anyone, and we need to see if… see if he’s still…” she trails off, unable to finish her thought.

Bodhi takes pity on her. “See if that ankle of yours is broken, right? Don’t think I didn’t hear your moaning, even though my mind was elsewhere. I can see from here that it’s twice the normal size.” 

She smiles thinly at him and they make their slow and painful way out of Rogue One. Together.

*

When they enter the medical wing, it’s surprisingly hectic. Jyn’s stunned for a moment, wondering how their small team of five could cause the entire medical crew to fly from one end of the room to the other, shouting for this or that, or how five people could fill so many beds in the bay. And that’s when she realizes a beautiful thing: Rogue One was not the only ship that escaped Scarif. A handful of rebel fighters are currently being attended to, some of which she recognizes as volunteers that followed Cass—that joined her in disobeying direct orders and were part of the first wave.

She shares an awed smile with Bodhi before a visibly harried medic appears in front of her and directs her to an empty bed, the medic’s firm hand under her arm partially supporting her and leaving no room for argument. 

Her eyes scan the room, searching for more familiar faces. Her search is rewarded. Chirrut sits in a bed by the wall, a serene smile on his face as Baze clearly delivers a lecture. Bodhi has been led to a bed near hers and already a droid is cutting the sleeve off of his uniform. Her eyes continue to move, though, desperately searching for the one face she hasn’t yet seen. He’s not here. She looks at every face twice, but his is not among them. Panic begins to tighten around her chest and breathing gets more difficult. _He can’t be gone,_ her mind cries. 

The medic who escorted her to this bed is already removing her boot and prodding at her swollen ankle. She clamps down on her rising panic. “Excuse me, could you please tell me where Cass—where Captain Andor is?” 

The man glances up before turning away to motion for someone. “He’s not here anymore,” he states, matter-of-fact.

Jyn freezes. _No._ “What?” she can barely get the word out.

He waves his hand dismissively and takes a canister of something from a droid who’s just appeared. “He’s not here anymore,” he repeats. “They came flying through with him a little while ago and disappeared to the private sector. I guess his condition was too severe for the facilities in the public wing.”

She can breathe again. “Can I see him?”

He shakes his head apologetically, rubbing a paste onto her ankle. “Not a chance, sorry. I don’t have clearance for the private sector and you’ll stay here because you’re not going to be walking on this foot for a little while.”

Steely resolve fills her. She snatches her foot back from his hands and places it on the floor, rising to a standing position. “I don’t take orders from you,” she snaps, already moving away from him. She’s no idea where she’s going, but thinks as long as she’s moving there might be a chance she’s moving in the right direction. Moving towards him. 

“Whoa. Whoa!” the medic shouts from behind her. He appears at her side and places a restraining hand on her arm. 

“Don’t touch me!” she shouts, wrenching her arm from his grasp. A distant part of her recognizes she’s probably going into shock—it’s a wonder it didn’t begin sooner—because she feels like she did after Eadu, her body numb and her mind disconnected, but she can’t be bothered with that now. She’s on a mission.

She stumbles forwards a few more steps, wincing at the pain that flares in her ankle but relishing it at the same time because it’s something she can feel. Something that cuts through the ice and panic lacing her body. 

A metal figure appears in front of her, barring her path. “I sense that you’re in distress,” the humanoid droid states. 

“Oh do you,” she fumes, “that’s really kriffing observant of you!”

“You will injure yourself further if you continue to act in this way.”

“I don’t care! I need to—”

“I cannot allow you to injure yourself, it’s against my protocols,” the droid interrupts, reaching for her.

She swats at its hand—which the distant part of her recognizes is a really stupid idea, because human hand striking metal droid is bound to end poorly—but the droid’s hand dodges her swipe and reaches her neck. She feels a prick and things begin to get fuzzy. “Did you drug me?” she demands in outrage, but the fire is leaving her.

“My apologies, but it was necessary.”

Strong arms surround her and pick her up before her legs give out. She sees wild black hair streaked with gray and a beard on a kind face— _Baze,_ she thinks—before darkness pulls her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying my best to keep people mostly in character. If anyone seems way off, please let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No one will tell me the exact condition of the Captain, all they say is that he is still alive...”
> 
> “Right, well. If no one will talk to you then they’d better bloody well talk to me,” she declares vehemently, already moving to put her feet on the floor.
> 
> Or: Jyn wakes up and watch out world because she's on a mission.

She wakes with a pounding in her head echoed by the throbbing of her ankle. For a few moments, she tries to remember what happened—did she twist her ankle during work at the prison camp?—until everything snaps back into place. 

Her eyes fly open and she whips up in bed, taking in her surroundings in an instant: large room, many beds filled with people (medical, her brain supplies), calmer atmosphere than the last time she was conscious, a few people moving around, and someone sitting in a chair at the foot of her cot. 

“Ah, you’re awake at last, Jyn Erso,” the monk greets her. 

“Chirrut,” she wheezes, voice hoarse from disuse, “how are you?”

“I am well indeed, little sister. The Force has looked after me.”

He’s dressed in a loose fitting cotton shirt and pants that hide his injury, but she knows it’s there. “You mean the Force let you get shot in the side? That hardly seems like it looked after you.”

He smiles. “Better the side than the head or the heart, no?”

She has no answer for that, so he continues.

“Baze would agree with you, though,” he concedes. “In fact, I’m supposed to still be in bed because he made me promise, but he wasn’t terribly specific, he just said ‘Promise to stay here.’ So I interpret ‘here’ as in the medical wing. He should be grateful I am so restrained; here could mean anywhere from this base to this moon.”

She snorts at that, amused—which she’s sure is what Chirrut is going for. “He won’t be grateful, he’ll be livid.”

The monk leans forward conspiratorially and drops his voice to a whisper. “He’ll only be mad if he catches me.”

Jyn can’t stop herself from grinning and immediately looks away in an attempt to squash it before anyone sees. It’s pointless to look away, she knows, because a blind man can’t see her smile and this particular man can probably sense it regardless of whether she’s facing him. He still maintains he’s not a Jedi, and if that’s really true, then he’s the most Force-sensitive non-Jedi she’s ever heard of. 

“You’re certain you’re all right?” she asks again.

“Yes,” he nods confidently, “the wound is already healing.”

“Baze is all right?”

“As grumbly as ever.”

“And Bodhi?”

“Our pilot friend left a few hours ago, to go where I am not sure, but he seemed more settled than he has been in a long time, probably due to a certain someone.” He gives her a knowing look that his blind eyes should not be able to make, but do. 

She blushes. “I’m sure he’s just had a lot to process and hasn’t had the time to do that until now.”

“Of course,” the man agrees placatingly. “I do not know why I thought differently.”

A silence stretches between them and Jyn tries to pick up the courage to ask about the one member of their crew she hasn’t yet inquired about… she can’t. She’s too afraid of the answer.

It doesn’t matter; Chirrut understands the cause of her sudden quiet. “No one will tell me the exact condition of the Captain, all they say is that he is still alive.”

She lets out the breath she’s been holding. “Why won’t they tell you?”

“I think it has to do with my unknown status outside the chain of command and initial appearance of a vagrant monk. Though I just helped give the Alliance a chance,” he winks at her, “no one quite knows what to do with me. Or Baze, for the same reasons. Or Rook, because it’s hard for people to overcome twenty years of hate towards all things Empire and trust and embrace a former Imperial pilot as a fellow comrade in only a few hours. We all know people change, some people just take a little longer to recognize it.” 

Before she can speak to voice her concerns about Bodhi’s safety, Chirrut preempts her. “Baze is staying by his side, just in case.”

“Right, well. If no one will talk to you then they’d better bloody well talk to me,” she declares vehemently, already moving to put her feet on the floor. She sees her bad ankle is wrapped and, while it feels better, she doesn’t look forward to the pain it’s promising to cause her the moment she puts weight on it. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Chirrut lean forward. She thinks he’s probably about to attempt to stop her—because she can tell she really shouldn’t be walking—so she holds out her hand towards him in a “stop” motion and closes her eyes. “You can’t keep me from doing this, so there’s no point in trying,” she announces. 

She’s met with only silence.

When she opens her eyes, a long metal object hangs just front of her face. Turning to look down the length of said object, she follows it back to Chirrut, who holds it out to her, expression purposefully bland. It’s a crutch. “I took the liberty of procuring a safer mode of transportation for you,” he tells her mildly.

 _Smug bastard_ , she thinks fondly, grateful that he’s not attempting to keep her here and instead is enabling her escape. She takes the crutch from him and he leans down to pick up the other from the foot of the bed and hand it to her as well. “Thank you,” she murmurs once she’s on her feet—or rather, on her foot—reaching out to clasp his shoulder.

He dismisses it. “You would have found a way.”

“Yes, but it’s nice to know I have a friend who made sure I didn’t have to,” she confesses warmly.

He smiles, squeezing her hand on his shoulder. “The Force is with you; do not let anyone block your path, for your path is clear.” 

She has no reply for that, so she thanks him once again before slowly moving away.

“The Force is with him, too!” the blind man calls out to her. “He still fights. He still keeps his promise.”

Tears sting her eyes but she doesn’t turn around and instead moves determinedly forward. 

*

Finding someone with any knowledge of Cassian’s location and status turns out to be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. She keeps asking medical personnel—droids and humans alike—and keeps getting the same answer: “I don’t know, talk to (insert name here).” So she goes to the next person and the next, maintaining politeness, until one person refers her back to a person Jyn’s already spoken with, and her temper snaps.

“Listen here!” she interrupts the man as he gives her directions she doesn’t want or need. “I have spent the better part of an hour stumping along on these damn difficult crutches in order to go from one corner of this medical facility to another to politely inquire where Captain Cassian Andor is and no one seems to know!” she growls. “Which seems pretty much impossible since you all are medics and _he was wounded_! So either you’re all incompetent and truly don’t know where a critically injured hero of the Alliance is, or you people are purposefully sending me on a wild chase with no intention of ever disclosing the information and I’m telling you now that I’ve had enough!” 

When her tirade ends, the man in front of her gapes and begins babbling incoherently. They’re currently in a hallway and she notices the traffic has totally stopped. All eyes stare at her with mixed expressions of fear, awe and surprise.

“Enough!” she yells, grabbing onto the man’s shirt collar and pulling him close, disregarding her crutches which clatter to the floor. “If you don’t take me to Cassian Andor right this minute I will set a rancor on you and once it’s caught you, feed both of you to a sarlacc!”

The man’s mouth snaps shut and a look of pure panic crosses his face, but he says nothing. _Hm,_ she thinks. _Maybe he really doesn’t know…_

Just then, a voice catches her attention. “You were on the shuttle with him, weren’t you? You made it back from Scarif on Rogue One?”

She whips around to identify the voice—almost tripping over her crutches in the process—and immediately lays eyes on a tall man with short blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in clothes identifying him as a head medic. It takes her a moment to recognize him, but when she does she realizes he’s the medic from yesterday. The one who first took Cassian out of the transport and seemed to know him.

“Yes, I was,” she replies snippily, letting go of the shirt of the man she’d been berating and doing her best to curb her anger now that someone is _finally_ talking to her beyond referring her to someone else. 

He nods before looking at everyone else still frozen in the hallway. “Move along people, the show’s over.” Once the hall is mostly clear, he turns back to her. “Who are you?”

“Jyn Erso.” Her patience is quickly thinning.

“Never heard of you,” he tells her gruffly.

She huffs in frustration; this is getting her nowhere. “Daughter of Galen Erso, the man who made the Death Star and created a weakness in it for the Alliance to exploit,” she retorts. 

The man crosses his arms at her hostile tone. “I don’t mean ‘who are you’ in a general sense,” he clarifies. “I mean who are you to _Andor_?” 

The question quells her rising fury and stuns her. She knows perfectly well who _he_ is to _her_ —he’s become her anchor in this galaxy of chaos, he’s her steadying presence, her light amidst darkness, he’s her guardian and his arms have become her home—but who is _she_ to _Cassian_? 

Who _is_ she to Cassian? A pest? A mission? A reluctant rebel? Nothing more than a comrade in arms useful for fighting against the Empire? She truly doesn’t know, but she has to believe she’s more than that to him… and if she’s not, well then she will do everything in her power to remedy it. She finally settles on something she’s pretty sure is true: “a friend.”

The man raises his eyebrows, looking her up and down as if trying to place her. “Well if you are, you’ve not been his friend for very long. Andor doesn’t allow himself the luxury of many friends and, as a result, I know all of them.” 

She falters for a moment. “Well, no, I haven’t been his friend for very long, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” 

He stares at her for what feels like minutes, then turns and starts walking away. Jyn wants to scream in outrage and desperation and is about to tear into him, when he calls over his shoulder, “well come on then.”

She snatches up her crutches and scrambles after him as quickly as they allow, relief coursing through her. She draws level with him in the hallway, fighting to keep pace with his long legged stride. She doesn’t think he’s walking fast on purpose—intending to punish her or make it difficult for her with her ankle the way it is—it appears just to be his natural speed. She reckons it comes from his occupation as head medic; if he’s not racing to a crisis, he’s always needed somewhere and therefore moving as quickly as possible from point A to point B is a necessity.

“Thank you,” she sighs breathlessly, grateful she’s finally making progress.

He shrugs. “If you’ve only known him a few days and you’re willing to spend so much time and energy ascertaining his condition and location and aren’t above resorting to threats or physical violence, well, I figure he could use someone like you in his corner.” 

She gives him a moment to elaborate on that remark, but when he doesn’t, she prompts, “Someone like me?”

“Yeah, someone who’s passionate, won’t take shit from anyone and—most importantly—who’ll stick up for Andor.” He glances at her, briefly making eye contact. “Like I said earlier, he doesn’t have many friends—not because people don’t like him, quite the opposite in fact—and while I don’t know you yet, I’m getting the sense that you’ll be a good one.”

Jyn finds her face flushing at that, completely at a loss for words. Choosing to change the subject in order to avoid replying, she comments, “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Oh? How’s that?” he queries, intrigued.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Vorin Yevez. I’d shake your hand but it looks like they’re full at the moment,” he smiles and nods to her crutches. 

“And you are a friend of Cassian’s?” she asks curiously.

“I’ve known him a long time and wouldn’t be here bossing people around and talking to your charming self if it weren’t for him. I’d be nothing more than a handful of fading memories in my friends’ minds and a red stain on the sand. So yeah, I’d say he’s earned my friendship a hundred times over.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask if Cassian’s a friend of yours, I asked if _you’re_ a friend of _Cassian’s_ ,” she states, mimicking his clarification from moments before. “Earlier,” she puffs, breath getting increasingly shorter due to the prolonged use of the crutches at high speed, “you seemed to imply that it isn’t that he has difficulty earning peoples’ friendships, but that either people have difficulty earning his or that he doesn’t allow people to become his friends… for some reason.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, sees his mouth set in a thin line and knows she’s onto something. “So, either you’re a hypocrite for demanding to know how I’m a friend of Cassian’s when you, yourself, are not, a liar for saying you’re his friend when you’re not, or you’re deliberately being misleading and I’ve had more than my fill of people being misleading today so for Kriff’s sake just give me a straight answer!”

He stops suddenly and turns to face her. His eyes are hard as he looks her up and down as if examining the strength of her resolve. She doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny. She thinks he’s about to ream her out for talking so boldly and crudely to him, but he breaks into a broad smile instead, immediately confusing her. “You’re a sharp one all right,” he compliments, “and you listen. Against my better judgement, I’m already starting to like you.” 

She rolls her eyes at his theatrics. “Well that’s wonderful, so glad I have your approval. Now can we please stop dilly-dallying? My arms are aching and I’m honestly terrified that my friend is dying as I stand here trading pointless verbal jabs with you!”

“Of course,” he acquiesces. “But we’re not ‘dilly-dallying,’ as you so artfully put it, we’re here.” He gestures to a door behind her.

“What?” she demands, blood draining from her face.

“Andor,” he replies patiently, “is in that private medical room. And he’s not dying,” he adds sympathetically, seeing her go white, “not at the moment anyway. He’s far from out of the woods, but we have him pretty well stabilized for now. He’s had one bacta tank treatment already, but due to the severity and extent of his injuries, he’ll need several more. His blaster wound’s responded well to the treatment—though it’s not fully healed yet, either—but it’s his massive amount of internal injuries that have us the most concerned and I’ve no idea how he obtained them. Theories abound from hand-to-hand death match, to struck multiple times by an AT-ST, AT-ACT or other heavily armored behemoth. Care to shed some light on the matter? I asked the rest of your shipmates and no one seemed to know.”

She closes her eyes, her mind immediately flashing to the horrific moment when he’d been shot and had fallen. She’d thought he was dead. “He fell,” she murmurs quietly, “three stories down a tower—”

“—But that doesn’t really explain the intensity of the damage and various angles at which—”

“—striking metal beam after metal beam on his way down,” she finishes coolly.

“Oh,” Yevez exhales. “Well, that would do it,” he acknowledges, voice uncharacteristically subdued. He clears his throat. “I won’t keep you any longer, you’re free to go in. You have unrestricted access, but don’t let just anyone in there, the fewer people the better.”

“There’s restricted access?”

“Yes,” he replies briskly before changing the subject. “Just a head’s up, he’s unconscious for the moment and we don’t anticipate him waking anytime soon. Not for days, really.” He pauses awkwardly for a moment, before clapping his hands. “Right, I’m off.” And he turns tail and begins walking away.

Two of his comments stick out in her mind and they don’t quite feel right… _He said he’d already asked my shipmates, meaning he already knew their connection to me, and if there’s restricted access then how am I already on the unrestricted list unless…_ “Wait!” she shouts after him. “You knew who I was all along?”

His laugh echoes down the hallway as he turns to face her, now walking backwards. “Of course! Everyone knows who you are now. You and all of Rogue One are heroes!”

“Then what was with all the cloak and dagger?!” she seethes, furious that he—and all of the medical personnel presumably following his orders—had wasted an hour of her time, an hour that could have been spent at Cassian’s side.

“Honestly? I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t just give up! I needed to see how far your determination and loyalty to him would take you! It was a test and you passed!” And then he’s gone, disappeared around a corner.

She yells curses after him, until she knows he’s long been out of ear shot. Then, not wasting anymore time, she turns and places her hand on the keypad. With a quiet hiss, the door slides open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was probably a little cruel of Yevez, but hey, Cassian deserves someone who will look out for him.  
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Also, this is probably going to end up being more than five chapters... my muse just keeps coming up with new ideas!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She doesn’t expect a response, so she’s astonished when his hand tightens ever so slightly around hers, before relaxing once more. His eyes still remain stubbornly shut, but she has to believe he heard her. It’s enough for now."

She steps into the room, the door sliding closed behind her, and finally lays eyes on Cassian Andor. He’s lying on a cot which has its upper half slightly elevated so that he’s not totally flat. He’s not wearing a shirt as his chest is mostly wrapped in a bandage and a blanket covers his body from halfway up his torso down to his feet. The room is warm and everything is white, from the sheets to the walls to the floor, which makes Cassian’s dark hair stand out starkly from his surroundings and his skin look even whiter. It’s unsettling, seeing him so pale; such a contrast from his natural warmer skin tone. 

She hobbles forward to a chair placed at his bed side and sits down, carefully placing her crutches on the floor. She scoots forward and reaches cautiously for his hand, clasping it in her own. Despite the pallor of his skin, his hand is warm and familiar as his callouses rub across her palm. A knot, that’s wound tighter and tighter inside of her since the moment they parted in the bay of Rogue One, finally begins to loosen. Chirrut had told her Cassian was okay and Yevez had said he wasn’t dying, but there was a difference between hearing something and having tangible proof before her, having Cassian living and breathing before her. In this case, seeing is absolutely believing. Especially when her last images of him are ones of fading eyes, too much blood and rattling breaths.

She closes her eyes and squeezes his hand tightly, letting the tears she’s been holding back since she awoke finally slip out and glide slowly down her face. She doesn’t indulge in emotions often, hasn’t had the luxury to allow herself that—a character trait she suspects she shares with Cassian—but in solitude with no one around to witness her, she lowers her walls and lets out the flood that has been building in her since her father died: horror at the death and destruction, grief for the comrades and family she’s lost, fear of failure, anger at the Empire, and desperation. She does her best to release all of these negative feelings and lets them flow out with her tears, leaving room for the positive ones. She clings to those: relief at their escape, elation at their success, gratitude to Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze—for too many things to count, not the least of which for coming back for her and Cassian—and a warm feeling that’s lurking below all the rest that she’s beginning to identify as the potential for happiness, which first began when Cassian told her “welcome home.”

She opens her eyes to look at him, and finally admits to herself how dependent she is on him now. Not dependent in that all of a sudden she needs a man in her life or because she couldn’t survive without him—of course she could!—but because she doesn’t want to _survive_ anymore, she wants to _live_. And she can only see that happening if he lives, too, because her potential happiness and willingness to believe there’s still good left in the galaxy is now entirely tied to his well-being. Why? Because he was the first person since she’d been abandoned in a bunker six years ago to show her that there are still good people who are brave enough to stand up for what they believe in. She’d never really had much hope before, but now that he’s given it to her, she can’t imagine life without it. And therefore she can’t imagine life without him. 

It’s a little frightening, really, for two reasons. One is that for so long she’s beaten dependence on others out of herself, decrying it a weakness, yet here she is readily admitting it doesn’t make one weaker, it makes one stronger. Two soldiers are better than a single soldier alone, and she understands now that letting people into her life means she will never be alone. There will always be someone to stand with her, to come back for her. Cassian has shown her that. 

The second reason is that she knows it means she will have to open herself up to someone, because it wouldn’t be fair to him for her to only take what he gives freely and give nothing in return. Is she ready for that? Is she ready to let someone inside her walls that have so long been her reliable protectors? And more, is she ready to let Chirrut, Baze and Bodhi in as well? For they are fast becoming her new family, if she doesn’t put an end to it. 

She can’t say for sure that she’s ready, but she knows she’s ready to try and that’s enough for now. The pessimistic side of her—that she’s working very hard to squash—keeps whispering in her ear, asking her if it even matters, if she’ll even get the chance. The Empire’s still out there and they still have the planet killing Death Star.

She pushes such depressing thoughts from her mind, choosing to focus on the present. “Cassian,” she murmurs softly, “Chirrut, Baze and Bodhi are all fine. Maybe you knew that already, but you were pretty out of it on the shuttle”— _you were dying_ —“and I figured you’d want to know. Bodhi was pretty shaken up and I’m still worried about him, but Baze is keeping an eye out and I guess that’s all we can do for now. And,” she adds with a smile on her face, “we weren’t the only ones who made it. Can you believe it? I know I couldn’t. There must be at least ten other people!” She falters. “I know that doesn’t sound like many, but considering I thought for sure this was a suicide mission—no matter how much you and I tried to act like it wasn’t—I’ll take what I can get. I can’t tell you who made it because I honestly don’t know any of their names.” 

She pauses. “That sounds self-centered and terrible, but it’s true. It seems everyone knows my name now and I have no clue who anyone else is… though to be honest my priorities were not to find out the names of who made it, but to find you.” 

She closes her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. “I thought you were dead three different times yesterday, Cassian. When Krennic shot you, a small part of myself kept telling me you were fine, that you’d be okay, but my brain knew that couldn’t be true. My brain told me you’d died. But that wasn’t the worst time because I had a mission. I could compartmentalize and keep going because you’d taught me that some things are worth the sacrifice… that the Alliance is greater than any one person.

“No, the worst was on the shuttle,” she confesses. “We had no right to be alive but we were and once we were given that miracle, I wasn’t letting go. We were supposed to be safe and stupid me forgot for a moment that you’d been shot, fallen three stories, climbed who knows how far with broken ribs, and then practically collapsed on the beach. _Stupid_ me,” she berates herself viciously, opening her eyes because she needs to remind herself that he’s still here. “And you were dying, Cassian. You were slipping right through my fingertips and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.” 

She wipes savagely at the tears still threatening her eyes, choking out a tormented laugh, “and then the third time, some idiot in medical chose the absolute worst words he could possibly use to answer my question when I asked where you were! What an idiot!”

She searches his face, hoping for some sign that he hears her, a reaction of any kind… Nothing.

She sighs, leaning down to rest her head on the cot, eyes never leaving his face. “I guess I just want to say thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for always coming back for me, for not abandoning me and for saving my life. And most importantly, thank you for keeping your promise to me… Like I said before, I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad... so it means the world to me that you did and you have.”

She doesn’t expect a response, so she’s astonished when his hand tightens ever so slightly around hers, before relaxing once more. His eyes still remain stubbornly shut, but she has to believe he heard her. It’s enough for now.

*

_She’s on the tower of Scarif again, staring down Orson Krennic as the battle in the sky rages around them. The damaged walkway trembles beneath her feet, threatening collapse at any moment. Blaster fire flashes before her eyes and she flinches as a beam burns into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground._

_“JYN!” she hears someone shout._

_She coughs, rolling onto her stomach and pushing onto her feet. She sees at least ten feet of nothing between her and a never ending fall to the ground. Part of the gangway’s floor has crumbled away, leaving only the side supports left. Looking back to the platform, she observes Krennic’s crumpled form and Cassian motioning for her to get off the walkway quickly. She moves towards one of the supports still in place, prepared to slowly clamber across, but Cassian’s shout stops her._

_“There’s no time! You’ll have to jump!” she can barely hear him over the roar of fighters, wind and breaking metal._

_She knows he’s right, already the supports are fracturing under the stress of holding more weight than they are designed for. Her ankle twinges. There’s no way she can make the leap._

_“I’ll catch you! I promise!” he calls, eyes meeting hers, a world of calm amidst shrieking metal and howling wind._

_He’ll catch her. She backs up as far as she can, then sprints forward, throwing herself into the air, throwing her life into his hands. She falls inches short, but his hand is there, grasping hers and stopping her fall as he lies on his stomach on the edge of the platform, holding her as she hangs._

_“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and she’s close enough now that she can hear him clearly, all other noises have fallen silent. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, his voice calm and kind._

_She smiles at him, but flinches when something wet strikes her face. She knows immediately that it’s blood. His blood. He pulls her up and as he does, she sees the wound in his side bleed more and more. Her head clears the platform and now she’s able to help, grabbing onto the edge and hauling herself up to take some of the strain off of him. Once she’s back on safe ground, she turns to thank him, but he’s already pushing her towards the console, his meaning clear: finish the mission._

_Reluctantly, she leaves his side and dashes to the control panel, quickly completing the sequence needed to send the plans speeding into the sky and hopefully into Alliance hands. By the time she returns to him, he’s lying on his back, eyes closed and side soaked in blood._

_“No! Cassian!” she falls to her knees, pulling him into her arms and desperately covering his injury with her hands. It’s a futile effort. She reaches a bloodstained hand up to tap his cheek. “Cassian. Cassian wake up!” He doesn’t. “Please,” she whispers, tears blurring her eyes. “I’ve got you,” she echoes his last words to her._

_They never make it to the beach, Rogue One doesn’t come for them. He dies in her arms, high on the platform isolating them from the world. She screams her grief into the sky until she’s obliterated by the shock wave of the Death Star’s blast._

*

She jerks awake, inhaling sharply and bolting upright from the position she’d slumped to when she fell asleep: head resting on her arms, arms resting on the bed at Cassian’s side and hands still holding his. At first she doesn’t know what awoke her—thinking perhaps it was the trauma of the dream—until she hears a sigh and her gaze snaps to Cassian’s face. His eyes are open and looking at her, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's awake! Woohoo!  
> So this is definitely going to be longer than five chapters. So far I have it blocked out as 12, but who knows.  
> Hope you enjoyed! If you like what you see, don't like what you see, want more of something or less of something, feel free to let me know and I will do my best to accommodate! It's always helpful to hear other peoples' ideas and interests.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not,” cough, “half. Only,” he pauses for breath, “three or four.”
> 
> She sits back in her chair, staring at him. “Unbelievable. You’re half dead and you’re arguing with me. How in the galaxy do you know it’s only three or four?” she demands.

Awareness doesn’t come to him gradually, it arrives all at once. One moment there’s nothing and the next there is bright light blinding his eyes, silence broken by the occasional mechanical hum and a strange weight on his left hand. It takes his muscles a moment to respond to his brain’s command to turn his head and look, but when they do, his eyes are greeted with the sight of Jyn Erso. She’s sitting on a chair next to his cot, slumped forward with her head and hands resting on his arm, asleep in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position. 

He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of her, because if Vorin—whom Cassian trusts implicitly—didn’t order her kept in bed, then she must be relatively okay. He contemplates, for a moment, whether she could have slipped out against doctor’s orders, but dismisses the possibility; Vorin would have sedated her if necessary. Jyn is resourceful and unstoppable, but the head medic rules the medical wing and no one leaves it without his say so—Cassian knows from personal experience. He tries to let the sight of her soothe the memories currently clamoring to the forefront of his mind, the memories of the moments leading up to lying in the bay of Rogue One with Jyn talking to him and holding his hand. Everything’s blank after that. He has no recollection of the transition from there to this room, where she is no longer talking to him, but his hand is still in hers. 

He fights down the fear threatening him as the memories refuse to be subdued. He can still remember the panic he’d felt when he awoke on the metal platform on Scarif and both the high-ranking Imperial officer in white and Jyn were gone. He’d hoped that she’d continued to climb, to finish the mission, but part of him—the panicking part—thought maybe she’d been shot or fallen and hadn’t been saved by a metal grate. 

With no way of knowing, he’d clung to the hope that she’d made it to the top, and thus there had been no other option in his mind but to climb as well. He wasn’t going to leave her. He’d heaved his aching body hand over hand up the tower, sheer force of will and determination the only things that had kept him going as his chest burned and blood coursed down his side. And then, he’d reached the opening that snapped close every few seconds and he’d just wanted to laugh humorlessly at the injustice of it. Because of course, after all of the hell they’d gone through to get to this point, after listening to his best friend die—he’d destroy anyone who said it was impossible for a droid to be a friend—of course there had to be this one last impossible obstacle. On a good day, getting through it would have been easy. It had not been a good day. He’d been so close to giving up, then. To letting go and falling, to letting someone else sacrifice everything and do the Alliance’s dirty work in order to make sure they win. To letting go and trusting that Jyn would make sure the mission succeeded. He trusted Jyn.

The only thing that had made him try was that he wasn’t the type of person who gave up. He’d never given up in his life, he hadn’t been about to start then. That would have been giving up on the Rebellion, turning twenty years of hard work—that broke him physically and mentally—into meaningless nothing. It would have meant giving up on Jyn, too, which is something he was not willing to do, even if she didn’t need him. So he’d steeled his resolve and clambered his way through the death trap with not even a second to spare. He’d paid a price though… had felt something snap inside of him. 

But it had been worth it, because if he hadn’t continued, he never would have seen her again. He never would have known if she’d made it, because he hadn’t known she was alive until he saw her defiantly facing down the man in white. Immense relief had coursed through him, until he saw that the man’s hands held a blaster and his finger was tightening on the trigger. Cassian hadn’t thought, hadn’t stopped to analyze or calculate, he’d simply reacted. There was no way in hell he’d let Jyn get gunned down when they were so close to success, not when he was starting to understand how much she meant to him, not while he had breath to stop it. He’d fired in an instant.

But now his foggy mind can’t remember if he’d been fast enough, if he’d shot in time or if the man had struck her. She’s here in front of him, so that quells some of his worry, but he has to make sure. He’s remembering snippets of words she spoke to him while he was unconscious: that Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze are all okay—though he makes a mental note to keep an eye on Bodhi, once he’s up and around that is—but she didn’t say anything about herself. He’ll bite his tongue, though, and wait to ask her, because he doesn’t want to wake her.

He feels a cramp threatening his back so he shifts slightly. Big mistake. Until then the pain had been conspicuously absent, but now it stabs into his side and lungs. He gasps, holding himself perfectly still in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing, and that’s when Jyn rockets upright, looking around wildly. He can’t hold back a quiet groan as the ache refuses to diminish and her eyes flash to his. 

“Cassian!” she cries, relief—and something more that he can’t put his finger on… happiness?—evident in her voice.

He gives her as much of a smile as he can muster, tired and sore as he is. “Jyn,” he greets, voice scratchy and barely above a whisper. “How…” he tries, but is unable to continue as a cough threatens.

“How…?” she asks, face puzzled.

He frowns in frustration, commanding his body to cooperate. “How… are you?”

“Oh, how am I?” she clarifies, face clearing and relief immediately morphing into something close to anger.

He nods, suspicious as to her sudden mood change.

“How am I? Asks the man lying in a bed with half of his ribs broken, the same man who almost bled out on the floor of a shuttle and stopped breathing in my arms! Is that seriously the first thing you’re going to say?!” she admonishes, eyes flashing. 

He narrows his eyes, not sure what to do with her reaction, so he wisely chooses to change the direction of the conversation. “Not half,” he corrects.

“What!?” she exclaims.

He glances meaningfully at his torso. “Not,” cough, “half. Only,” he pauses for breath, “three or four.”

She sits back in her chair, staring at him. “Unbelievable. You’re half dead and you’re arguing with me. How in the galaxy do you know it’s only three or four?” she demands.

He quirks his lips in a small smile. “I’ve had some experience.”

Strangely, that doesn’t seem to comfort her. Instead she purses her lips and folds her arms. 

He decides to wait her out and not say anything. It’s getting harder to suppress the coughs anyway.

“Fine,” she grumbles, answering his earlier question. “I’m fine. I’ve got a twisted ankle and bruises all over, but nothing serious.”

“Good,” he breathes, blinking slowly.

He feels her hand rest on his arm and he meets her eyes. The anger has gone out of her. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, somewhat grudgingly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m really glad you’re awake. I don’t know what I would have—” she cuts herself off before she finishes the sentence, but he thinks he understands.

He tries to say something both witty and comforting, but the words lodge in his throat and a violent cough emerges instead. His eyes widen in surprise as agony flares through his body.

Jyn’s on her feet now, hovering over him. “Cassian? Are you all right?”

No, he most certainly is not all right, but he has no breath to tell her that as cough after cough wracks his body until they stop and suddenly he can’t breathe. It’s eerily familiar to the last thing he remembers before blacking out in Rogue One. He hears screaming, both mechanical and human, as the machines monitoring him begin wailing an alert and Jyn yells something he can’t understand. Sounds are fading from his ears as he focuses solely on attempting to draw breath, until there are hands on his face. Jyn’s eyes capture his and don’t let go. Though he can’t hear what she’s saying, she conveys her message of solidarity and calm loud and clear. He’s able to relax fractionally and draw in a small breath. The relief is immediate and he wants to thank her, but suddenly voices shout over him, activity flurries in the previously peaceful room and then Jyn’s gone. 

*

As the monitors wail and people and droids flood into the room, Yevez grabs her and shoves her into the hall, pleading for her to stay outside for Cassian’s sake; they need all of the available space in the room. It’s literally the only thing he could have said to keep her from taking the room by storm and, if she weren’t in shock with adrenaline roaring through her veins, she would have appreciated what his approach means: that he respects and understands her enough to know that nothing else would have worked, that ordering her would have accomplished nothing. If he had, she would have spit in his face, assuming he thought her too delicate or emotional to witness the scene. A small part of her recognizes that he must know that’s not the case, that he must understand her need to keep Cassian safe because he appealed to her protective side in order to keep her out. (And there’s a scary thought, if this almost stranger already knows what Cassian means to her now… is she that transparent?). The rest of her can only stand frozen, staring at the door and willing it to open.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, until finally Yevez appears, followed by the entire medical team, all of who stream away down the hall. “He’s okay,” he reassures her tiredly, before clearing his throat and continuing, “We weren’t expecting him to wake up that quickly, so we hadn’t thought to make sure his medication was strong enough to keep the pain at a manageable level while conscious. Even with his incredibly high tolerance, his cough caused his muscles to spasm and then it was just a perfect storm from there.” He sighs dejectedly, muttering, “I’m calling myself ten kinds of idiots for not entertaining the possibility that he might wake up sooner than expected. Andor’s always exceeding expectations and breaking the laws of human endurance. It shouldn’t have surprised me.”

He looks at her finally and it’s only now that she notices the dark circles under his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders. When she first met him, she hadn’t seen how tired he was—perhaps because he was skilled at hiding it—but she realizes that treating all of the rebels who returned from Scarif and keeping his critically injured friend alive must be taking its toll. “Anyway, you can go in if you like,” he gestures behind him, “but he’s sleeping now and this time I’m sure he won’t be awake for quite a while. I’ve given him enough drugs to make sure of it. I’d order you to get some rest yourself, but we both know that would be pointless and counterproductive, so instead I will only highly recommend it.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “I’ll take it under advisement. For now, I think I’ll sit with him a little while longer, though.”

He smiles and steps away from the door, holding his hands up in acknowledgement of defeat. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be easier to find this time around, I promise,” he winks, before turning to walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassian's POV was a fun and difficult challenge... but I'm not sure of the results.  
> Sorry if you were hoping for a nice long conversation between Jyn and Cassian in this chapter, since he was awake. Don't worry, though, because that's coming! It's not my intention to draw it out too slowly or anything, it's just he has been through the wringer and it seemed far fetched that he'd be ready for that now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How dare you!” she hisses, taking a step forward, forcing them to step back. “How _dare_ you! Do you have any idea what this man has done for you, what he’s risked and sacrificed so that you could hide comfortably on this base and not get blown to bits?!”
> 
> Or: Bodhi finds out first hand that some people in the Alliance are jerks, Jyn gets protective, and then she and Bodhi have a nice heart to heart.

An hour later, Jyn finally listens to what her body has been telling her since she first woke up: it needs food and it needs rest. Now. She doesn’t even know what time it is, but she slowly makes her way towards the center of the base, hoping either to run into a friendly face or smell the food. In fact, she does both. 

She finds what can only be the mess hall and, upon entering, immediately spots Chirrut and Baze sitting at a table on the far side. The room isn’t crowded, so it can’t be high meal time—a digital readout on the wall tells her it’s late in the evening. Only a handful of people sit at tables or stand in line for food near the door she just entered through.

She begins moving forward on her crutches towards her friends, when a commotion to the right catches her attention. In the line for food, two people are heckling a third, calling him an Imperial spy and shoving him none too gently. Jyn’s going to leave it to sort itself out—she’s too tired to care—until she sees the man getting pushed around: Bodhi. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Baze rise from the table, face thunderous, but he’s all the way across the room. Jyn is not. 

In seconds, her crutches have clattered to the floor and she’s covered the distance separating her from the escalating conflict, the pain in her ankle gone. Her hands fist in the back of one of the men’s jacket and she pulls him forcefully away from Bodhi. She’s furious and the man is surprised enough that she manages to throw him all the way down to the floor. 

She steps in front of Bodhi—whose eyes have gone wide with a mix of surprise, gratitude and worry—positioning herself between him and the remaining man. Placing both hands on the aggressor’s chest, she pushes him backwards hard enough that he stumbles. “Hey!” she yells, fire in her eyes. “What in the galaxy gives you the right to attack a hero of the Alliance?!” she demands in outrage. 

Both men recover from their shock at being taken down by someone much smaller than themselves and advance menacingly towards her. She doesn’t back down. 

“He’s no hero!” one of them sneers. “He’s a traitor! It’s his fault our friends died for nothing!” 

“How dare you!” she hisses, taking a step forward, forcing them to step back. “How _dare_ you! Do you have any idea what this man has done for you, what he’s risked and sacrificed so that you could hide comfortably on this base and not get blown to bits?!”

A gentle hand appears on her shoulder. “Jyn,” Bodhi murmurs, “it’s not worth it. Just let it go.”

She glances back at him for a moment, prepared to tell him off for not sticking up for himself, but something stops her. It’s the concern in his eyes. Not concern for his own safety, but concern for hers. It’s touching and warms her heart, even if it’s unwarranted. She’s not about to let two pompous men walk all over her friend. 

She turns back to the men, voice calmer but no less deadly. “Of course it’s worth it, Bodhi. Because you’re worth it. Now, gentlemen,” she bares her teeth in a mockery of a smile, “if you continue to spew lies and hatred at my friend and don’t back off _now_ , I’m warning you that you will not like the outcome.”

One of them scoffs. “What can someone like you do to us? I hear the only reason you joined the Rebellion is because daddy dearest died! He was part of the Empire; maybe you’re a traitor, too!” He steps forward in another attempt to intimidate her, but Jyn has had enough. 

She whips her knee up, lightning fast, striking the man directly in his groin. The breath leaves his body and he bends forward, mouth shaped in a perfect “O,” eyes bulging. She grabs one of his arms, spins him around and wrenches it behind his back until she hears a “pop.” He screams, desperately gasping for air. 

She tosses him to the floor just in time to greet his partner in crime’s first advance. He swings his right fist at her, throwing all of his weight into it in an attempt at a knockout blow. Too bad for him that he’s much too slow. She grabs his swinging arm, twisting away from him and using all of his forward momentum to send him flying over her shoulder to slam down hard onto the ground. Immediately, she brings her foot down to stomp on his sternum—force carefully calculated to knock his breath away but not break anything… crack, perhaps, but not break. 

Both men stare up at her, gasping for air and fighting back tears of pain. “I warned you,” she retorts disdainfully. “Come near me or my friends again and you’ll have more than a few bruises to worry about.” She reaches behind her and grabs Bodhi’s arm gently, pulling him away from the two men.

As they walk away, she pivots and almost runs into Baze, who watches her with a small smile on his face.

“Enjoy the show? You could have helped,” she huffs, indignant at his amusement. 

His smile widens. “Like you needed help!” he retorts, chuckling. “I figured it would be therapeutic for you to take care of it yourself. And I was right here, if I needed to step in.

She rolls her eyes and continues walking in order to cover her own amusement, Bodhi still in tow. She reaches the table Baze had been sitting at just as Chirrut returns as well.

“And where were _you_ when two bullies were threatening us?” she demands.

“I, Jyn Erso, was getting nutritious and delicious food,” he states proudly, placing two steaming plates on the table. 

She gapes at him. “Food. You were getting food while two men attacked us?”

“Of course. And actually, it seemed to me like you attacked them, but I am blind. What do I know?” he asks, face full of innocence. 

She rolls her eyes, an action lost on him, she knows, but she figures he’ll sense her intention. 

He continues as if she’d done nothing—she’s noticed he’s suspiciously selective about what he “sees” and doesn’t see. “I knew you wouldn’t think to obtain food for yourselves while you were in line, as you were otherwise occupied and Bodhi had been so rudely interrupted, so I took advantage of the commotion you so handily provided and cut in line while everyone was focused on you.” He pushes the two plates towards her and Bodhi. “You’re welcome.”

She stares at his smiling face in silence, trying to wrap her head around who this man is and how he knows what he knows, until Bodhi sits and pulls her down next to him. “Thank you,” he nods to the monk.

She glares at her food, poking and prodding it but not moving it towards her mouth. 

“You might as well eat it before it goes cold. I did go to all of the trouble to get it for you,” Chirrut points out.

She sends daggers with her eyes his direction, before growling a “thank you” and shoveling food into her mouth.

Once she’s finished and her stomach has stopped rumbling every few minutes, she questions, “Bodhi, what was that all about and was that the first time or have there been others?”

He looks down at his plate. “That was the first time,” he promises. “I think people are just scared and on edge because the Princess is missing, and the plans along with her.”

“What?” she asks stupidly, trying to come up with an alternate understanding of what he’d just said, an understanding other than the one her brain is providing, one she refuses to believe is true.

He looks at her in horror. “You hadn’t heard?”

“Heard what?” she demands.

“The ship that received the transmission of the plans from Scarif, _Profundity_ , was disabled by the Empire and boarded. Apparently the Princess of Alderaan had volunteered to go with the reinforcements to Scarif and her ship was docked to _Profundity_. The council believes the plans were transferred to her ship and she was able to escape for a short time, until…” he looks down. “Until an Imperial Star Destroyer caught it.”

“Caught it,” she repeats faintly. “But the Princess made it off, right? Surely someone made it?”

Bodhi bites his lip and shakes his head. “No. All hands were either captured or killed.”

“And the plans…”

“Presumed lost.”

“WHAT?!” Jyn thunders. “THEY LOST THEM?!”

“Unfortunately it would appear so,” Bodhi confirms, trying very hard to mask his grief and desperation.

Jyn sits in silence for a moment, too stunned even to think. Finally, her mind snaps out of its stupor and she slams her fists on the table, rises to her feet and storms away. She knows she’ll have to apologize to them later, but right now she just needs to get away from _everyone_ , even her friends. All she can think of is the hell she and all of the volunteers disobeying direct orders had gone through. The sacrifices each individual person had freely given—even unto the ultimate sacrifice: death. She thinks of K-2SO’s heroism at the end, of Cassian fighting for his life, of all those who took every chance they had and kept taking chances to make it possible. All for nothing. 

She still can’t wrap her head around that concept; that their win has suddenly turned into a defeat. If any rebels were captured—if the Princess was captured—the Empire could be headed here right now, having tortured the base’s location out of her. 

She needs to escape. She needs a place to herself to scream and grieve, but she has nowhere to go. She doesn’t know this base. She doesn’t belong here. Panic surfaces in her as the feeling of being trapped slowly takes hold.

It’s at that moment that she nearly runs into a wall of white that she immediately identifies as Mon Mothma, one of the council members who had ultimately shot down Jyn’s call to rally the troops. 

Jyn crosses her arms and glares at the woman, daring her to speak, thankful for the sudden anger that boils in her, as it chases away the panic.

Mothma gazes at her with kindness and a hint of sadness, which just infuriates Jyn more. “I gather you have heard of the Princess’ capture.”

Jyn clamps her mouth shut, knowing she won’t be able to say anything civil.

Mothma nods. “Well then, I can’t ask any more from you because you have already given more than I ever expected, but I beg of you not to lose hope.”

“Not to lose hope,” she repeats monotonously. “You see Councilor, that’s exactly what I’ve been telling myself and I was stupid to believe in it enough to tell others the same thing! Don’t lose hope. And then you and your Alliance goes and mucks everything up, and the sacrifice of those who volunteered turns into nothing. They died for you and your cause, and now you’ve made that meaningless! What kind of Rebellion are you?” she snarls.

Mothma stands there calmly all throughout her rant, not flinching once. When Jyn’s finished, the woman offers her a sad smile. “I understand your feelings and I hear you. We’re doing everything we can. All I can say is that you were the one who said so eloquently that ‘rebellions are built on hope,’ and I can only remind you of those words. Because they’re true.” 

Cassian’s words echoing in her mind calms her slightly, until the woman continues.

“I’m sure Captain Andor would agree—”

“Don’t!” she throws up a hand to stop the woman. “Don’t speak for him! Don’t _ever_ speak for him!” she hisses.

The Councilor sighs. “Fair enough, Jyn, but remember that I’ve known him far longer than you. You’ve only known him a few days and only rallied to his cause once you lost your father,” Mothma tells her bluntly, “so don’t pretend that you know him better than everyone else. You don’t.”

Jyn flinches at that, stung, because she knows the woman speaks the truth.

Before she can retaliate, however, Mothma stops her. “Perhaps that was unkind of me. Please accept my apologies, it was not my intention to upset you. I came to find you because I don’t believe anyone has informed you of your new quarters, now that you’ve joined us.”

“I don’t want any bloody quarters,” Jyn scowls.

Mothma only hands her a digital readout with directions to her rooms. “I think you’ll find the location agreeable.”

Jyn snatches the map from the woman’s hands and storms on—or, as much as she can, still hindered by crutches.

*

She follows the directions reluctantly. They lead her to the quietest wing of the base and she stops in front of a door with her name lit up above an access panel. She doesn’t understand Mothma’s assertion that she’d like it, as she finds nothing special about the location beyond its peace—which she grudgingly appreciates—until she sees the names that belong to the four other rooms on this little alcove: Baze Malbus, Chirrut Îmwe, Bodhi Rook and Cassian Andor. For the first time since she saw Cassian awake, a smile slips onto her face. She still doesn’t like the Councilor, but she doesn’t hate her as much as she did. It’s something, at least.

The fact that Cassian’s room is here gives her pause, wondering if the four rooms surrounding his have always been empty, or if their residents were moved, or if… they’d died on Scarif. Had he purposefully isolated himself? If so, then why? She’s tempted to go into his room, to gain some insight into this man who has captivated her and touched her heart, but she restrains herself. She won’t invade his privacy like that. 

It’s late and she decides to take Yevez’s advice and get some rest. She scans into her own room, unsure of what to expect. It’s small, in a cozy way, with a skinny single bed and built in shelves along the far wall and a closed in bathing alcove. Several stacks of simple clothes are laid out on the bed. Inspecting them she discovers that they’re a generic size that should fit her, perhaps not perfectly, but well enough.

Ten minutes later she emerges from the alcove, clean and dressed in lightweight, loose fitting clothes. It had felt great to wash away the dirt and grime and—more importantly—the blood she could still see under her fingernails. She’s just sitting down on her bed when there’s a knock at her door. Opening it, she finds Bodhi standing there hesitantly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She steps back from the door and goes to sit on her bed, motioning to him that he’s welcome to join her. 

He perches on the edge, staring at his twisting hands.

“Something on your mind, Bodhi?” she prompts gently, after a minute of silence.

He sighs. “I’m sure it’s the same thing on your mind: what was it all for, what do we do now, is the Empire going to kill us tomorrow, and on and on and on. The questions never end. Sound familiar?” he asks with a melancholy smile.

“Sounds pretty spot on, to me,” she admits. “Was that really the first time someone’s bothered you? Earlier, in the mess hall?” she interrogates, taking advantage of his willingness to share in this moment.

“Yes,” he reassures quickly.

She waits.

“Okay, well, mostly yes,” he confesses. “Certainly that was the first time it got physical, but a few other people have tossed some comments my way. Nothing more than that, though, because Baze hasn’t left my side. It’s understandable, really,” he muses, and she hates that he’s making excuses for the people wrongly mistreating him. “Everyone’s on edge—particularly since the news of the Princess’ capture—they’re looking for someone to blame, and I’m an easy, identifiable target. And how could they know I’m not a double agent?”

She scoffs. “There’s nothing understandable about it. The people taking it out on you are miserable excuses for rebels with no spines and no intelligence on their shoulders. Anyone with half a brain can see the good man that you are, Bodhi. As to how they could know you’re not a double agent, there are two answers to that and they’re both very simple. One, I’d kill you myself if you were. And two, a double agent wouldn’t have made sure we had an open line to broadcast through. I heard what Cassian asked you to do; no one would have thought less of you or suspected you were a double agent if you had just sat where you were and not made it back onto Rogue One to plug in. But you didn’t sit in relative safety. I’m guessing that you ran through hell and fire to get that line open. Am I wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead his face flushes slightly, which is answer enough.

“I thought not. So that, Bodhi Rook, is how I know you’re not a spy. And any bozos who claim otherwise are stupid, blind and nothing better than bantha fodder.”

He’s silent for a while, collecting himself she thinks, before he utters, “Thank you.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Now, I need to get some sleep and by the looks of it, you do too. When was the last time you rested?”

“Uh,” he looks at her guiltily, “it’s been over forty-eight hours.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “You didn’t sleep last night? After you left medical?”

He shakes his head. “I tried to. I really did. Someone showed me to my room next door here, but all I could do was lie there for hours, thinking of how alone it felt and wondering if it was how all the people that didn’t make it off of Scarif felt at the end.”

She pauses to think for a minute. “All right then, up," she orders, getting to her feet.

“What?” he asks in confusion.

“You heard me, get on your feet and back to your room.” 

A look of hurt flashes across his face as he thinks she’s kicking him out, but he goes to her door anyway and exits.

As he does, she grabs the lightweight cot and drags it from its frame, following him, her crutches abandoned (her ankle is mostly healed anyway and she’s fed up with dealing with them).

He’s about to shut his room’s door when she calls out, “Hold up, idiot. Did you really think I was just kicking you out?”

He nods slowly, stepping back out of her way, giving her room to maneuver the bed into his room and onto the floor. “And you’d have every right to,” he adds hastily. “You’ve been more than kind and understanding with me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Those are two words that I don’t think have ever been used to describe me, and definitely not in the same sentence. You must have hit your head, too.”

He’s still staring at her, obviously trying to figure out what’s going on.

She sighs and explains, “You said you couldn’t sleep last night because you were alone. I’m sure I will have the same issue, so I’m problem solving. I will sleep on the floor, you on your bed, and then neither of us will be alone.” She feels nothing but friendship and the beginnings of brotherly love for this man, and she’s certain he has no romantic inclinations either. Plus, the look of relief that crosses his face at her solution is priceless. She would do anything to comfort him, she realizes. 

It’s the first good night sleep either of them has had in a long time. 

*

In the morning, Bodhi is still asleep when she awakens, so she slips out silently, leaving her cot behind. She goes back to her room where she showers again—twice in less than twelve hours, what a luxury!—and changes clothes. When she exits her room—leaving her crutches behind, she’s done with them—she faces the door directly across the hall from hers. “Cassian Andor” is lit up in bright blue above the access panel. 

Yesterday, she’d been too tired to give in to temptation, but now, now it’s calling to her... She gives in. Crossing the hall, she thinks she probably won’t even be able to get in—they are coded to specific handprints after all—and she uses that as her excuse. She’s just testing, she won’t actually enter—because in all probability it won’t let her. But when the door slides open at her request, she can’t help but step inside, taking a leaf out of Chirrut’s book: Cassian can’t be mad if he doesn’t catch her.

It’s surprisingly and disappointingly bare. She’d hoped it might help her learn more about the man who is still mostly a mystery to her, but she quickly realizes she’ll find little to no clues here. Though she supposes that that is a clue in and of itself: he’s always ready to go at a moment’s notice and is probably gone from the base more often than he’s there. It fits with the few hints he’s given her, namely his comment about how she isn’t the only one who’s lost everything. Here, she can see a man who does not form attachments, perhaps because he’s always had those attachments viciously ripped from him. 

Is that what’s made him into the hardened, serious Captain willing to do whatever it takes to ensure the Rebellion’s success? Is that why she’s never seen a full smile from him, only fleeting half smiles that twist her heart in unexpected ways? Because he’s locked down his emotions so tightly? She vows, then, to give him more reasons to be happy. To be the reason that he finally smiles fully. 

As she asks herself these questions, recognizing how little she knows about him, she realizes that he probably knows more about her than she does him, because she’s sure he’s read her file—and she thinks it’s more likely that he actually compiled it in the first place, given his role in Intelligence. _Well,_ she thinks, _I’ll just have to work on remedying that inequality of information._

The only personal items in the room are a couple of discs stacked on the built in shelves. She leafs through them curiously, finding them all to be uninteresting and unhelpful—mostly manuals or training guides to various things—until she reaches the last one. Across its front in perfect scrawl reads: “CASSIAN DON’T TOUCH THIS! This is my backup. Do NOT destroy or delete!”

 _No. It can’t be… can it?_ Flipping it over, she sees additional information:

Former Imperial Security Droid, KX-series – K-2SO  
Date created – 7 ACW  
Date reprogrammed – 11 ACW (Reprogrammed by Cassian Andor – blame him for any of my short-comings)  
Date of backup – 19 ACW.

Her mind reels from this information, but one thought rings out loud and clear: _there’s a chance to save K2!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah! K2 is coming back!  
> So I couldn’t find anything on how the Empire/the Alliance kept track of years prior to the genesis of the BBY system (which at this point in the timeline obviously hasn’t happened yet) so I figured the Alliance would go off of the end of the Republic that came from the end of the Clone Wars in 19 BBY, and use that as 0 ACW (After Clone Wars). If someone does know what they used, feel free to let me know! Hope that makes sense.  
> If not, basically the dates on K-2SO’s backup are date created – 12 BBY,  
> date reprogrammed – 8 BBY (no one seems to know exactly when he was reprogrammed, so for the purposes of my story, this is when),  
> date of backup – 0 BBY.  
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos and support! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We rushed into the cargo bay of the ship and I saw the state of the soldier lying on the floor and thought to myself, ‘how is this guy not already dead?’” The medic’s eyes meet his briefly, before looking down. “And that’s when it registered that it was you. That it was my best friend covered in blood."
> 
> Or: Cassian's awake again and has two much needed--if not entirely pleasant--talks with two different visitors.

The second time Cassian awakes, Jyn is not with him. There’s no hand holding his, no person rocketing awake so fast she almost falls out of her chair, but he isn’t alone. Mon Mothma sits in the chair previously occupied by Jyn, closely scrutinizing a tablet which Cassian is sure contains some sort of important briefing. He knows the Councilor fairly well due to his high-ranking position and the many missions he’s run for the Alliance, and as such he’d say they’ve developed a camaraderie of sorts. This means that sometimes their meetings are informal, sometimes formal. In case this is going to be an official briefing, he does a full checkup of his condition before drawing her attention, making sure he can handle formality if necessary. While by no means is he recovered, he can sense an overall improvement. Moving is still a risky business, but he no longer feels like his chest is splitting open or that the coughs that had decimated him earlier would appear again. Satisfied, he clears his throat.

Mothma’s eyes snap to his, sharp and all-knowing as they always are. She shuts down the tablet, placing it on the floor, before leaning back into the chair and offering him a smile. “Captain Andor, it’s good to see you awake.” 

“Councilor Mothma,” he dips his head in greeting, “what can I do for you?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but upon seeing him attempt to shift into a more respectful and attentive sitting position—and the subsequent wince he cannot suppress as his battered body protests—she tssks and raises a staying hand. “Please, do not trouble yourself on my account. And we can drop the formalities, Cassian. This is an unofficial visit and I see no need for my best Captain to injure himself further in an attempt at keeping customs,” she finishes, lowering her hand.

He nods in acknowledgement and allows himself to settle back onto the bed, grateful for the reprieve. He could have handled it, _would_ have handled it without uttering a word of complaint, but is relieved he doesn’t have to. “Then that brings me to my original question: what can I do?”

“Right now? Absolutely nothing but rest and heal. It was quite a close call for you and the last thing I want is to add stress to your recovery, but—” she cuts herself off, seeming suddenly unsure.

“But?” he prompts, dread pooling in his stomach, knowing immediately that something has gone seriously wrong. Mothma _rarely_ shows anything but confidence and control.

“It’s not fair of me to burden you with this, in fact Draven ordered me not to, and since he is your commander, technically I should defer to his judgement. But in this case, I have examined his judgement and found it to be in error and, since I outrank him, there’s nothing he can do to stop me except bluster furiously. As I am her mentor and she is your friend, I thought it only fair that you know.”

“Know what?” he demands, anger at her slow delivery slowly building in him. “Mothma, what are you not telling me?”

She takes a deep breath before plunging on. “Shortly after the battle of Scarif, during which you and your crew so bravely obtained the plans to the Death Star and transmitted them to the Rebel fleet, the ship that ultimately received the plans was intercepted by an Imperial Star Destroyer. The Rebel ship was _Tantive IV._ ”

_No. No! What in the galaxy was she doing there!_ he shouts silently, every fiber of his being wishing Mothma had been deceived or is lying. “And the people on board?”

“All hands were either captured or killed and the plans are believed lost. I’m so sorry, Cassian.”

He looks away, unable to handle the moisture shinning in Mothma’s eyes as his own are threatened by tears. “Which Destroyer?”

“I don’t think—”

“Which Destroyer?!” he yells.

A pause. Then, “ _The Devastator_.”

He whips his head back around to stare at her. “That’s Vader’s ship.”

“I know,” she acknowledges sadly. 

He raises his right hand to cover his face, ignoring the sharp pains that shoot through his body in the process. “The Force only knows what he’s doing to her if she’s still alive,” he whispers in horror. “I don’t know whether to wish she lived, or pray with all my heart that she died.”

“I’m so sorry, Cassian,” she says again, fighting her own emotions. “I know how close you and Leia are as friends. I regret the pain this must cause you, but it would have been a disservice to you had I allowed Draven to conceal it.”

He nods, face still covered, unable to verbally thank her, but he knows she will understand.

“You’ve been a part of this Rebellion nearly as long as I have, Cassian, though you started much younger. You know as well as I do—if not better—that we lose people in this struggle, but that the Cause must go on.”

He drops his hand in order to glare at her. “You don’t have to tell _me_ that,” he chokes out vehemently, emotion threatening to close his throat.

“I know,” she murmurs. “I’m mostly reminding myself of it.”

Silence falls for several moments and Cassian wants nothing more than to scream his rage and grief, but he cannot do that in front of Mothma. He steels himself, reining in all of his emotions and clamping them down tightly, donning one of his many masks. He reaches out his hand towards Mothma’s, hoping she doesn’t find it too presumptuous, as he only wishes to offer her some small form of comfort. She’s known Leia far longer than he has. The woman looks at his hand in surprise, before clasping it firmly.

“Don’t give up hope, Mothma. Never give it up. Once we do, we are nothing. No more than a meaningless ragtag band of beings without enough purpose to accomplish anything.”

She looks down at that and a small smirk appears on her face. “I told her you’d say that.”

He frowns in confusion. “Told whom?”

She meets his gaze. “Jyn Erso. When she found out about this, she was understandably upset. I tried to comfort her.”

Cassian winces in sympathy. “I imagine that did not go over well.”

Mothma’s eyebrows raise in a small show of amusement. “No, it did not. When I told her I knew you wouldn’t give up hope, she told me never to speak for you again.” She places his hand back on the bed.

“Sounds like Jyn,” he snorts, his mask of steel slipping at the mention of her.

The door slides open, then, to reveal Vorin Yevez. He startles at the sight of Mon Mothma—clearly having not been aware that she was in the room—but recovers quickly. “Sorry to end this highly classified secret meeting,” he interrupts cheerfully, “but I need to take Cassian to a treatment.”

“Of course.” Mothma rises and moves towards the door. “Good day, Captain Andor,” she calls over her shoulder, before nodding to the blond, “Head Medic Yevez,” and exiting.

“Good day, Councilor,” Vorin hollers after her.

*

Several hours later, Vorin returns Cassian to his medical room after a treatment and a much needed shower, and helps him settle in bed. Cassian clutches at his ribs as he leans forward to allow Vorin to shift the pillows and bed position, before the medic places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and carefully helps him lie back. With practically anyone else, Cassian would have never allowed such assistance, would have chosen to hold himself stiffly despite the pain and would have insisted on managing on his own. But Vorin had long ago broken through Cassian’s wall of pride and independence and made it clear that injuries were injuries and there was no shame in them.

“Thank you,” he tells his friend as the blond steps back to survey his handiwork.

The man blinks. “Of course. Anything for a hero of the Rebellion,” he declares, grinning widely as he sits down.

Cassian groans. “Ack, don’t pull that nonsense with me. I’m just a friend who got a little too battered on his most recent mission.”

Vorin’s face turns serious. “Part of that statement’s true, but part of it isn’t. While it is true you are my friend, there is no ‘just’ about it, and ‘a little too battered’ is such an obscene understatement that it’s almost a lie. You were as good as dead when you arrived here, Cassian,” he declares gravely. “When we got the call that a ship was coming in from Scarif with a critically injured person on board, we had only found out about the battle a little while earlier. It all happened so fast that by the time the whole base knew, it was almost over.” His eyes take on a faraway look as he explains. “I got the call and dutifully got out to the docking yard, prepared to receive injured, and then this ship comes in much faster than it’s supposed to and almost crashes. I figured, ‘this has to be the one that called ahead.’ I could tell the pilot must be desperate.

“We rushed into the cargo bay of the ship and I saw the state of the soldier lying on the floor and thought to myself, ‘how is this man not already dead?’” The medic’s eyes meet his briefly, before looking down. “And that’s when it registered that it was you. That it was my best friend covered in blood. I didn’t even know you had gone to Scarif! And there you were, for all intents and purposes, dead at my feet!” Vorin cries in distress.

Cassian tries to interrupt, but his friend won’t be stopped.

“I had no idea if I could save you. _No_ idea! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have your best friend’s life in your hands and not know if you have the strength to make him live?!”

“Yes,” Cassian admits quietly.

Vorin snaps his mouth shut and looks at him guiltily. “Sorry, of course you do. But don’t distract me,” the blond admonishes. “I’m trying to be angry at you and get a point across!”

Cassian smirks. “How’s that working for you?”

Vorin’s angry façade cracks for a moment and a small smile flashes onto his face before it quickly vanishes. “Dammit, Andor, you don’t get to just wave your hands and make everything better. I have a right to be angry!”

“Well, technically I really can’t wave my hands right now,” Cassian starts slyly, motioning to his restricted movements, but Vorin stops him, thundering “SILENCE!”

Cassian stares at his friend for several moments, reading the intense distress in his body language, then clasps his own hands and nods in apology. “Okay,” he tells the medic. “I’m listening.”

And Vorin explodes. “You can’t just die on me! You can’t just disappear without a word, with no warning and then come back to the base at death’s door! I have too much to pay you back for! Why didn’t you come get me?! When you were rounding up your merry band of volunteers to disobey orders and go on a suicide mission, why didn’t you ask me, too!? Did you think I would say no!?” he exclaims, chest heaving.

“Of course not,” Cassian replies vehemently. “It’s because I knew you’d say yes that I didn’t ask.”

The medic stares at him, stunned. “Why?!”

“Because the Rebellion needs you!”

“More than they need you? Not a good answer!” Vorin rages.

“Yes more than they need me! I’m replaceable! If they need to, they can find another Intelligence officer! They can’t find another medic with your incredible knowledge and skills so quickly!”

“That’s a pack of kriffing lies and you know it!” the blond roars.

“Fine! Fine, you want to know the truth? You want to know why I didn’t ask you?” Cassian shouts. “Because the last time you went on a mission with me and you had to kill someone, you swore you would _never_ do that again! _Never!_ Those were your _exact_ words.”

Vorin looks away, the fire leaving his body.

Cassian continues more calmly, “I didn’t ask you to go on the mission, because I wasn’t going to ask my friend to go against the one thing that I know is holding him together and keeping him sane: his moral code! Something I have to break what seems like almost every day, but that I know if he broke it, if he broke his oath, he’d be gone. Done! And I wasn’t going to be the one to put my friend in that position!”

Both men remain silent for several moments, the heaviness of their breathing as they catch their breaths the only sounds in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Vorin says quietly, and with that, all of the anger dissipates.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have nothing to apologize for,” Cassian reassures him. “You deserved an answer.”

Vorin’s blue eyes meet his brown ones. “No, I do. I have a lot to apologize for.”

“Well whatever it is, you’re forgiven. There. Done. End of discussion.”

The medic smiles ruefully. “You always let me off the hook too easily, Cassian. You’re a better friend than I have ever been.”

“Now you are truly speaking nonsense,” Cassian admonishes him. “Do I need to call someone to check your head and make sure you have not gone crazy?” he teases.

“I only speak the truth. And earlier, too, I wasn’t talking nonsense.” At Cassian’s confused look, he clarifies earnestly, “You _are_ a hero, which is something I’ve known for quite some time, it’s just that the rest of the world is only catching onto that now.”

Cassian decides to let that one go, not wanting to start another argument.

“Now,” Vorin claps his hands together, turning on his “medic mode,” as Cassian calls it. “As cathartic as that was for me, all of that shouting can’t have been good for you. While the bacta’s mostly healed your burn, your bones are taking a lot longer. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

The door slides open and Jyn enters, but Yevez ignores her, waiting for an answer.

Cassian pauses to think. “Uh, six?”

Vorin raises skeptical eyebrows. “Is that an Andor six or a normal person six?”

“Since when is there a difference?” Cassian demands indignantly.

The man rolls his eyes. “There has been a difference for as long as I’ve known you, my friend.”

“It’s still a six,” Cassian states stubbornly.

“All right, then it’s a nine. Drink this.” The medic pulls some tablets out of the drawer of the medical stand in the room and cracks them into a cup of water.

Cassian growls his defiance, but drinks when Vorin just stares at him impassively.

“Well, duty calls,” the blond explains apologetically. “As much as I’d love to stay, you might be surprised to know you are not the only patient clamoring for my attention. Just one last word of caution: while you’re improving markedly, I predict a solid energy crash in your near future. Your body is still healing from extensive trauma and that,” he glances at Jyn, “‘episode’ just now probably took a lot out of you. You may not feel it now, but don’t be surprised if he falls asleep in the middle of your conversation and is out for a good six hours,” he directs the last part of his sentence to Jyn.

“Duly noted,” she acknowledges.

“Andor,” Vorin gives him a salute, before turning back to Jyn. “And Erso, a pleasure as always.” He bows, before exiting the room.

Cassian watches her as she approaches, a thoughtful look on her face. “What?” he asks.

“Is he always so…” she searches for the word, “theatrical?”

“Vorin? Theatrical? Huh, I’ve never thought of him that way. I suppose? I guess I’ve always thought of it more that he’s very high strung with way too much energy, and that’s his way of focusing it.”

Her eyes appraise him. “You look much better,” she remarks.

“I feel much better. It’s amazing what a shower and fresh clothes can do, eh?”

She smiles at that, and it’s a beautiful smile. He wants to give her more reasons to smile instead of worry all of the time. He vows to work on that. Little does he know that Jyn has made the same promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I thought I would give Cassian's POV another go since it went all right last time, we'll see how it is this time.  
> Also, Leia and Cassian are just friends. Only friends. I really like the idea of them knowing each other, so I decided to incorporate that into the story :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She listens to it all, all the while aware that six and a half minutes have passed, meaning the Death Star is now in range and will fire at any moment... She doesn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die on Scarif, either, but she’d been more ready for it then than she is now. Now she’s had a taste of what life could be from here—part of something greater, part of the Alliance, with her friends and Cassian by her side—and she doesn’t want to let it go."
> 
> Or: The events of A New Hope transpire and it gives Jyn a lot to think about. Plus she does some eavesdropping and learns more about Cassian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments and feedback! I appreciate it greatly and I do adapt my story to accommodate what feedback I get.

When Jyn steps into Cassian’s medical room, she stops and listens to the friendly banter between the two men, hiding a smile. Even when it seems times are at their darkest, she’s learning that friends can help alleviate fear and desolation. There’s nothing wrong with smiling and laughing while the world threatens to crumble, because constantly living in fear is no life to live—she knows from personal experience.

Yevez departs with a flourish and she greets Cassian, relieved to see that more color has returned to his skin, his eyes are bright and focused and he’s sitting up and alert. It’s a significant improvement since the last time she saw him.

She’s already resolved not to tell him about the incident with Bodhi in the mess hall, because she doesn’t want to add to his stress (she’d run into Councilor Mothma again on her way here and the woman had informed her that Cassian knew about the lost plans), nor will she tell him she’s planning to work on building a body for K2, because she doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Instead, she tells him that they’ve been given rooms in his wing and he looks surprised and pleased at that. “The only thing is,” she goes on, “I don’t want to displace anyone, so if Councilor Mothma forced people to move out of there to make room for us—”

“She didn’t,” he interrupts.

 _Well that answers that question,_ she thinks, patting herself on the back for coming up with a sneaky way to ask so as not to raise suspicion. His assertion adds to the picture she’s forming of him, using the small hints he and Yevez have given. It’s a puzzling picture, one of a man who isolates himself—for a reason she hasn’t yet pin pointed—and gives off the image and aura of a callous captain, and yet who is secretly kindhearted. It’s a puzzle she vows to continue to piece together.

She’s been silent for too long, staring at him, so she blushes and turns away, diverting her thoughts and changing the subject. “I gather you’ve heard about the Alliance’s screw up.”

He nods solemnly.

“I can’t help thinking that it makes everything pointless. I mean, for all we know, the Death Star could be on its way here right this minute. And I can’t understand why we’re all just sitting here. Why isn't the base mobilizing and moving?” she confesses, needing to share her fears with someone before they tear her apart inside. She couldn’t do this with Bodhi because she had to be the strong one, and she didn’t want to speak with Chirrut and Baze about it because Baze would probably just hum and Chirrut would assure her to trust in the Force, but right now she needs something more concrete than the Force. So she naturally gravitated to Cassian. He will be her steadying force. “If they took prisoners,” she continues, “if they took the _Princess_ prisoner, they could be getting all sorts of information out of her!” As she finishes her rant, she sees pain flash across his face. Not physical pain, she’s sure of that, but emotional. It stops her in her tracks. What had she just said to illicit such a response? _Something about the Princess?_ she puzzles, then realizes with dawning horror that he might know her, and here Jyn is complaining callously about the information the Princess might give up, without showing any sympathy for the woman herself. Her fear is confirmed by his words a moment later.

“There are two reasons the base has not already moved,” he explains evenly. “One is simple logistics and practicality. It is impossible to uproot a base as extensive as this one in only a matter of days. While there are contingency plans in place that I am sure they are already mobilizing on, it just can’t happen.” He pauses. “The second reason is much more important and it is this: if she is still alive, Princess Leia will not give the Empire anything,” he states with conviction. “She was born into this galactic struggle and knows the stakes probably better than anyone. She will not break just to save her own skin.”

“You know her,” Jyn states quietly.

It’s not really a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes, I know her. She is..." he seems to search for an adequate word, before shrugging and finishing, "a very good friend.”

Jyn swallows. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”

He shakes his head, indicating the apology is unnecessary.

“The thing is,” Jyn starts, unsure if she should continue, before she decides to heck with it, she might as well, “just because you know her and she’s strong, doesn’t mean she won’t break under Imperial torture. You have no idea what it’s like.”

“And you do?” It’s not a challenge, it’s a concerned question.

She looks away. “Not personally, no. But I know it’s beyond anything I can imagine.”

He sighs in relief. “Good. I would not wish that on anyone, especially not you.”

She turns back to him, surprised by his honesty, but he continues before she has the chance to make him elaborate on his assertion.

“I may not know what _Imperial_ torture is like, but I am intimately familiar with torture—”

she has to force down a shudder at that statement, viciously denying the underlying meaning of it

“—and I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that Princess Leia will die before she reveals anything,” he reassures her earnestly. “She was captured once before—not by the Empire, but in the process of evading them. It was her first official mission with the Alliance and it had gone well, but on the return trip, Empire ships appeared out of nowhere and she and the pilot escaped to the only place they could think of: a very remote Outer Rim Territory. She evaded the Empire, with them none the wiser to her involvement in the Rebellion, but the natives of the planet she landed on were incredibly mistrusting and suspicious."

His voice hardens, reminding her of their first meeting in the situation room, when he’d stepped out of the shadows and confronted her. “They thought she was with the Empire so they took her captive. She couldn’t tell them the truth because they were equally anti-Alliance and particularly anti-Alderaan. As misguided as they were, they firmly believed Alderaan had only been supplying relief work to the Outer Territories as an opportunity to spy and take advantage of the locals. She told them nothing when they tortured her. And when they decided that wasn’t working, they chose a new tactic. They told her they would torture the pilot who’d been captured with her if she didn’t talk. She refused. Even once they began hurting her friend, she still didn’t break.”

Jyn has a horrible sneaking suspicion as to who the Princess’ “friend” was, but decides now is not the time to press. Though he speaks with passion, she can tell his strength is fading and he’s relying more and more on the pillows to support him. She has a feeling that Yevez’s promised crash is almost upon them, so she changes the subject to easier topics.

Not long after, she’s regaling Cassian with the story of what got her locked up on Wobani, when about halfway through she sees that his eyes are closed. “Cassian?” she calls softly, smiling when she receives no response and recognizes that he’s fallen asleep. She rises to her feet, hesitates for a moment, then steps forward and settles the blankets more comfortably around him, leaning in almost on instinct to press her lips to his forehead in a soft kiss. She surprises herself at her tenderness, pausing a moment to understand what it means—how incredibly important Cassian has become to her—but she doesn’t regret the gesture for a moment. He sighs contentedly, still asleep.

“Rest well, Cassian,” she whispers, before slipping away.

She wanders the halls for a while, searching for a particular room. When she’s unable to find it quickly, she stops people to inquire of its whereabouts. This time, her request for directions elicits immediate responses. A little while later, she steps through the doorway into the mechanical repair room. A droid greets her.

“Uh, hello,” she replies. “I’m looking to try to find a decommissioned droid—or to assemble one myself—that can handle an Imperial droid’s programming.”

 The droid hums. “Imperial circuitry is difficult and very different from our own. I’m not optimistic about your odds.”

It sounds so much like K2 that Jyn’s heart aches. “That’s okay. I’ve always done well as a long shot.”

“Very well, you’ll find all available parts and bodies over in that area.” It points. “Help yourself but I will be unable to assist you as my priorities have been set elsewhere.”

“Thank you.”

She spends the next hours elbow deep in circuits and grease, but her every attempt is blocked by the fact that she’s working with non-Imperial droids. None of them accept K2’s backup files. She looks up at one point, realizing half a day has passed and it’s early evening, and decides to take a break, recognizing that continually hitting her head against a wall will not be helpful.

She heads to the mess hall, planning to grab something to eat and then find Chirrut, Baze or Bodhi in order to check in on them, when she’s stopped by clamoring voices coming from the main hanger. Entering, she sees a crowd of people shouting animatedly, a degree of excitement in the air that she hasn’t felt before. Spotting her three friends clustered along the edge, she walks to them. “What’s going on?”

“Did you hear?” Bodhi demands excitedly. “The Princess is back! She’s safe! And she has the plans!” Jyn can hardly believe her ears. “An attack on the Death Star is imminent! It's just come out of hyperspace on the other side of Yavin and fighters have already taken off, heading to intercept it! It’s now or never, Jyn. It’s now or never!” Bodhi can hardly speak he’s so excited.

“Are you serious?” she demands.

“Indeed," Baze confirms, eyes glinting. "Bodhi speaks the truth.” 

“Well what’s the status of the fighters?”

“They haven’t started broadcasting beyond the situation room, and they won’t let in anyone else.”

“Oh won’t they? We’ll see about that.” She stalks off in the direction of headquarters. When someone attempts to block her entry, she glares at them and waits for them to recognize her—the perks of being a known hero—and they backup, apologizing profusely.

She enters the darkened room, eyes immediately drawn to the crowd of people around the central control. She stays on the edge—remembering that this is where Cassian lurked during their first meeting—listening to the radio chatter but not getting any closer. Her eyes are drawn to the only other woman in the room, dressed all in white and, for a moment, Jyn thinks it’s Councilor Mothma, until she looks closer and sees that the woman is young, probably Jyn’s age or perhaps even younger. _This must be Princess Leia,_ she remarks to herself, and she’s immediately intrigued by this person who appears to mean so much to the Rebellion and of whom Cassian spoke so highly. She believes Cassian’s deep respect is not earned easily, so this woman must be someone special to have gained his high regard.

She listens as Gold squadron begins their attack run, breath stuck in her throat and heart pounding. When the sound of their destruction crackles through the radio, despair settles in her stomach. This is their only chance! If they can’t do it, in seven minutes this base will be obliterated. She’ll meet with the Death Star’s blast for a third time and this time, she knows there will be no miracle ship to spirit her away.

As she listens to the chatter and contemplates that she might die in the next few minutes, she realizes she doesn’t want to be standing in a control room with people she doesn’t know when it happens. Cassian may not be awake yet, but if she’s about to die, she wants to be with him as it approaches, just like on the beach of Scarif.

She exits the control room at a sprint, but the radio chatter doesn’t stop; they’re broadcasting it throughout the base, now. In this, either their finest hour or their final moments, the Rebellion is truly an Alliance. Everyone stops and listens, prayers murmur from lips, and hands clasp hands that have never touched each other before. In this moment, they are a united force.

She makes it to Cassian’s room in record time. Jyn can’t handle a crowd right now, but she needs someone—her heart whispers that she needs _Cassian_ —so this is the perfect solution. She leaves the door open to let the broadcast filter in from the hallway and sits down in the chair. She closes her eyes, taking his hand in hers, and listens as their fate approaches.

She hears the second attack run fail, hears Wedge Antilles get hit and pull away and Biggs Darklighter die, leaving a lone X-Wing pilot, Luke Skywalker, against the entire Death Star. She listens to it all, all the while aware that six and a half minutes have passed, meaning the Death Star is now in range and will fire at any moment... She doesn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die on Scarif, either, but she’d been more ready for it then than she is now. Now she’s had a taste of what life could be from here—part of something greater, part of the Alliance, with her friends and Cassian by her side—and she doesn’t want to let it go.

But it’s out of her hands now. They’re seconds away from annihilation, when all of a sudden, a piercing yell echoes through the radio, followed by “You’re all clear kid! Now let’s blow this thing and go home!” Jyn has no idea who it is, but she suddenly understands he’s given Skywalker a chance, and just like she’d told the volunteers on Scarif, Skywalker’s taking it.  

It’s over. Her father’s final and greatest project and dream, the destruction of the Death Star, is realized. Through the hall echo screams and yells of celebration. She’s too numb to celebrate herself, but she walks to the doorway and leans against it, soaking in the happiness permeating the air. “Can you hear that, Cassian?” she looks over her shoulder with deep fondness at the still unconscious man. “We’ve done it!” she whispers, the importance of that sentence suddenly sinking in. Now, she has a chance, a chance to spend time with this man, a chance to get to know him, and she is going to take that chance.

She turns back to the hallway that is empty of everything but echoing celebration. “Thank you, Skywalker,” she whispers her gratitude with all of her heart. “Thank you for making our mission, our sacrifice worth it. It makes it just a little easier, knowing we went through hell for a reason.”

*

She wakes gradually, slowly coming to her senses as murmuring voices draw her from sleep. She doesn’t stir at first, trying to remember exactly where she is and what is going on, and then she remembers. She’d sat down on the end of Cassian’s bed, between his feet and the wall, but she has no memory of falling asleep. What’s unsettling, however, is that she is no longer in a sitting position, leaning against the wall. It’s obvious that she’s prone and on her side with her back pressed against the wall. Her legs are tucked up close to her chest and, as a result, are half falling off the bed half leaning against Cassian’s legs under the blanket, and most disconcertingly, she realizes her head is _not_ on the bed, because it’s elevated. It takes her a moment to understand that her head is resting on his leg as well, just above his knee.

She’s mortified, primarily because she’s terrified she’s hurting him, but also because she can hear a woman talking and therefore someone has witnessed her out of character softness! And then it gets worse, because she hears Cassian’s voice rumble back lowly. She’s elated that he’s awake again, but horrified that he, too is witnessing her cuddle up next to him! And that’s when her inner voice pipes up. _Moments ago when your death was imminent, you were lamenting the fact that you would never get to take a chance with him! And then once you understood you have the chance to, you were all for taking it! Perhaps this is a little sooner than you anticipated, but be grateful, Jyn! Embrace it!_

She tunes back into the conversation between the unknown woman and Cassian, in time to hear the tail end of her recounting the Death Star’s destruction.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Cassian says quietly. “Then again, not really. I’m not sure I could have handled the suspense.”

“It was quite something,” the woman agrees. “And to think that we have a Jedi on our side! I still can’t believe it.”

“And he was one of those who helped you get free?”

“Yes, he and a smuggler, Han Solo.”

“I’ll have to make sure I thank them,” Cassian says earnestly.

“Well you can thank Luke for sure, but don’t bother with Solo,” she huffs. “That man is insufferable. He was only in it for the money and the moment he had it, he left!”

“But he came back,” Cassian points out, and Jyn thinks she can hear the beginnings of a smile in his voice.

“Well, yes but,” the woman splutters quietly, “but he’s still self-absorbed, egotistical, and has questionable morals!”

“Ah, so you like him!” Now Jyn’s sure he’s smiling, and she can hardly suppress her own amusement as Cassian teases his friend, who Jyn now understands is Princess Leia.

“What? I never said that!” the woman disagrees crossly.

“But you were thinking it!”

She hears a very soft sound that sounds like a hand gently slapping skin, followed by an indignant “Hey!” from Cassian. “Don’t go beating up a wounded soldier!” he admonishes, still with a lighthearted tone.

It’s at this point that Jyn’s about to sit up and reveal that she’s awake, feeling guilty that she’s listened in for as long as she has, when she suddenly becomes aware of the tense silence that has fallen after his comment. She decides now is _not_ the best time to "wake up."

“Hey, come on now,” Cassian reassures softly, “I’m only kidding. You barely laid a finger on me and I deserved it.”

There’s a heavy sigh. “Of course you deserved it. It's just, you reminded me of what I’ve been trying very hard not to think about…” She pauses before continuing, “I knew you were down there, Cassian. I knew you and Jyn Erso had led the charge, and I was both incredibly proud of you and terrified for you at the same time. I saw the Death Star blast the planet just before Captain Antilles got us out of there and I didn’t know what to think. Were you dead? Had you escaped? I had no idea,” she whispers, voice thickening with emotion.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. Cloth rustles and his body shifts slightly beneath Jyn's head as she hears him reach out and pull the Princess into a hug. “I’m okay. I’m alive. And I’m not the only one who’s had a brush with death in the past few days. Mothma told me Vader had taken your ship and I didn’t know whether to hope you were still alive or that you had died… I’m so sorry you went through that, Leia. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, least of all you.”

The Princess sniffs back tears. “It’s only fair. I’ve watched you endure so much for the Rebellion, sacrifice too much, seen you be asked to do things I’m ashamed they asked you to do… It was my turn.”

Cassian’s tone darkens, and Jyn can picture the heavy scowl on his face. “That’s not how it works. What I do has nothing to do with you and there’s no taking turns. I do what I do so others don’t _have_ to. So that others are spared.”

“Well, there’s no point arguing over it now. I’m alive and you’re alive, though I hear from Yevez that this is the closest we’ve come to losing you, even including our mission together. I can’t even begin to imagine how bad it was if it was worse than that, and I would like it very much if you would promise never to allow it to happen again.”

She hears Cassian chuckle.

“What is funny about that?” the Princess demands.

“It’s just that it reminds me of something someone else asked me to promise. I’ll tell you what I told her: I promise to try.”

There’s a silence and Jyn can almost feel their gazes burning into her.

“Well, then I guess all I can hope for is that that's enough.”

They lapse into companionable silence and Jyn tries to figure out how she can "awaken" without raising suspicion, when she feels Cassian’s leg spasm beneath her and hears him wince. “Ack, Leia could you help me please? Could you help shift Jyn off of my leg? I hate to risk waking her, she deserves the rest, but my leg fell asleep ages ago and is now cramping as it wakes up.”

The Princess assents immediately and moments later gentle hands are pushing Jyn's shoulders back.

 _Well, no time like the present_ , Jyn thinks, opening her eyes.

The other woman startles and immediately removes her hands from Jyn’s shoulders. “My apologies, Jyn Erso, it was not my intention to wake you. It’s just that Cassian’s leg is growing uncomfortable.”

She blinks blearily and sits up slowly. She’d considered rocketing awake and leaping from the bed in embarrassment, as that was more in line with her character, but she’d decided not to. She wants to make a point that she’s ready to change.

She lets her eyes slide to Cassian’s and he smiles at her. “Jyn, I would like you to meet my friend, Princess Leia.”

Jyn’s eyes move to the young woman dressed in white, whom she’d seen earlier in the situation room. Her long brown hair has been released from the hairstyle Jyn saw earlier and now flows over the Princess’ shoulders. She has a young and beautiful face, but there’s a strength in her gaze that Jyn finds herself applauding. She already likes this woman. “It’s a pleasure, your Highness,” she greets hoarsely, voice rough from sleep, “but don’t expect me to get up and bow.”

Both Cassian and Princess Leia huff in amusement. “There’s no need for that, and please, I’m Leia to my friends and any friend of Cassian is a friend to me.”

“All right then,” Jyn nods agreeably. “I’m happy at your safe return and thank you for receiving and returning the Death Star plans to the Alliance.” She sees Cassian’s leg twitch again and feels guilty because she knows how painful muscle cramps can be, though his face gives nothing away. Casually, she begins massaging Cassian’s leg through the blanket in order to restore circulation to it, glancing at him to make sure he doesn’t object.

Surprise crosses his face, then gratitude, then, “You don’t have to do that, Jyn.”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble,” she dismisses. “It was my big head that made it fall asleep in the first place.”

Leia smiles and stands. “Unfortunately I need to go meet with the Council. I’ve been neglecting them for far too long and we need to speed up our evacuation plans now that the Empire knows our location.” She moves forward and reaches for Jyn’s hand, grasping it in a firm handshake when Jyn responds. “Thank you for all that you’ve done, Jyn. I’ll leave you both to get some rest.” She makes it all the way to the door and is about to leave before she turns around. “And look after him, please. Sometimes he’s so busy watching out for everyone else and carrying the weight of the Alliance on his shoulders that he forgets to take care of himself.” And then she’s gone.

Jyn can’t conceal the smirk that slides onto her face. She definitely likes this woman.

“Hey,” Cassian hisses from her left. She turns to look at him. “Don’t go getting any ideas,” he warns her seriously.

“Me? Ideas?” she asks innocently. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Now,” she rises, following Leia’s lead and heading quickly towards the door, “I should really go catch a few hours of sleep in my own bed. As should you, without a pesky visitor taking up half of your leg room.”

“Hey! I mean it!” he calls after her, raising a hand to point accusingly. “I have a sneaking suspicion you two will get along very well and that it will not go in my favor. I don’t need you two ganging up on me! I can already see the ideas turning in your head.”

Her face morphs into a full blown grin. “Now what ever makes you think that?” she asks smugly, before leaving the room.

*

It’s after two in the morning when she makes it back to her room. In the time that it takes her door to open, she groans, remembering that she’d left her bed in Bodhi’s room and will probably have to sleep on the floor. But she’s pleasantly surprised to see that her bed is tucked back onto its frame, neatly made and everything. She smiles. _What a sweetheart._

She goes to throw herself down on the cot and lose herself to the oblivion of sleep, but an object at the foot of the bed catches her eye: a blaster. There’s a brief note attached.

“A Rebel always needs a good blaster that she trusts by her side. I hope this one will suffice. – Cassian”

Grinning, she tucks the weapon onto a shelf and slides into bed. It’s a wonderful feeling, having people who care about you and who will always have your back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leia’s background is not quite cannon in my story. Therefore the story Cassian tells is entirely of my own creation/cannon. As I said earlier, I loved the idea of Leia and Cassian knowing each other and being friends, and this was how I could work it in. 
> 
> I also realize this story is a lot more angsty and talk-y than what I usually write... hmm. Is more action wanted?
> 
> Bodhi POV up next!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The severe-faced man whips around to scowl at him. “And who in the Galaxy are you!?”
> 
> Intimidated by the General’s aggressive tone, he widens his stance and raises his chin. _If Cassian can face down this bully while he's half dead on his feet, the least I can do is try._ “My name’s Bodhi Rook, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do people think of the present tense format this story is in? I know it's unusual... Do you like it, or dislike it?

The following morning, Bodhi stumbles his way across the base alone. He’d made his way back to his room at some late hour the night before and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, too stunned and elated. After returning Jyn’s bed to her own room, he’d lain awake for hours, mind still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the Death Star was gone. That Galen’s final and greatest defiance against the Empire had cost them their planet killer. That he, Bodhi, had honestly and truly made a difference in the galaxy. That was the part he’d had the hardest time comprehending and as he makes his way through the corridors, it still hasn’t fully sunk in.

 

When he was younger, he’d wanted his life to mean something, wanted to give back to the galaxy and make his mark in a fantastical way. At the time, raised under the thumb of the Empire, that meant dreaming of becoming an Imperial Starfighter pilot. He’d envisioned himself going on many adventures to defeat the disloyal rebels he’d heard rumors of as a boy and ultimately joining the ranks of Imperial heroes. As time had gone on, however, and he’d been rejected from the Starfighter program—thus crushing that dream—something had begun to take root in his heart and mind. A seed of doubt that kept whispering in his ear: _“this is wrong.”_ At first he’d felt ashamed for doubting the Empire, but as the years passed, that whisper grew into a roar that drowned out any admiration he’d ever had for the Imperial system, and the shame he’d first felt for doubting it disappeared. He’d been trapped in a role he detested, disgusted with himself that he didn’t have the guts to cut ties with the Empire; he’d been too afraid of what would happen to him.

 

And then he’d met Galen Erso, the man who he wished could have been his father, and things changed. Galen must have seen the turmoil raging in him because the man began setting aside time for Bodhi. Time where they talked for hours, but never about anything politically related. Galen would describe some complex scientific process to do with the Death Star that Bodhi only half understood and Bodhi would tell Galen stories—usually very dry stories—of his time as a cargo shuttle pilot.

 

Several months into their friendship, Galen had greeted him for their usual meeting with a little more anxiety than normal. Bodhi was used to Galen always being calm and unflappable, so the sudden change had startled Bodhi and put him on guard as well.

 

“Bodhi,” Galen had greeted him, “you and I have always danced around the question of our views towards the Empire, but I’m afraid the time has come and we can no longer afford to,” Galen had informed him gravely. “Trust is something that has been absent from my life for thirteen long years, it’s a luxury I have not allowed myself since the Empire forced me into their service.”

 

It was the first time Galen had ever expressed outright his position against the Empire—though Bodhi had begun to suspect from small comments here and there—and it shocked the pilot.

 

“And now,” Galen continued, “I find myself in the position of needing to trust someone with information of the utmost importance and there is not a doubt in my mind that I have chosen the right person.”

 

“And who might that be?” he’d queried cautiously.

 

Erso had smiled. “You, Bodhi Rook.”

 

“Me?!” he’d spluttered. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person? The man who failed to get into the Starfighter Program, who took years to qualify to even be a cargo shuttle pilot and who hasn’t made a single vertical movement in the ranks since joining?!”

 

Galen had nodded, silencing Bodhi. “I’ve gotten to know you, Rook, and I can see the man you truly are, the one you hide behind the mask of an average, unremarkable pilot who no one would look at twice. You are far from an ordinary man—there’s a goodness and strength within you that puts most others to shame—and you were incredibly smart to cultivate that mask of a commonplace man who keeps his head down; I think it’s one of the only reasons you are still alive, and it’s the exact reason why I know I can trust you.”

 

“Galen,” he’d tried to interrupt, “I don’t understand—”

 

“I know,” Erso had acknowledged wearily, cutting him off. “I’m about to ask you to do something that could quite possibly kill you and I need you to know I’m only asking because I know you, I see your potential and I know you can do it. It’s the right thing to do. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

 

Bodhi’s mind whirled. Part of him had begun to hope that Galen was offering him a path away from the Empire, but years of living with a secret hate of all things Imperial, all while in the heart of the Empire, had left Bodhi cautious. “You think too highly of me,” he’d protested. “I’m just a simple pilot who’s a little confused as to his allegiance and who most certainly is nothing extraordinary.”

 

“You’re wrong,” the engineer had countered vehemently. “If anything, there’s nothing ordinary about you, Bodhi. And you’re not confused about your allegiance, you know exactly where it lies, you just haven’t been given the chance to act on it. Well, I’m here to give you the chance and _beg_ you to take it.”

 

And then Galen Erso had told him everything. About the Death Star, about its imminent test and about his greatest gift to the free world: a way to destroy it. Though he wouldn’t give Bodhi specifics, he’d given him the data chip and pleaded with him to find Saw Gerrera. Had told the pilot to shred his mask and be the man he was inside. And Bodhi had answered the call.

 

They hadn’t known each other very long, but the man had utterly changed Bodhi’s life. He’d given validation to Bodhi’s discontent with the Empire and most importantly, he’d given Bodhi the chance to make a difference and the strength to be a better man. For that, Bodhi will be forever in his debt.

 

All of these memories and thoughts rattle around in his head as he enters the medical wing, making his way to the room he’d been told was Cassian’s. He hasn’t seen the captain since they’d parted ways on Scarif, beyond seeing two tiny figures on a beach from the windows of Rogue One and Chirrut telling him he needed to land. As the roar of the Death Star’s blast had approached, he hadn’t thought twice.

 

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t visited sooner, but thinks it’s probably because one, he wanted to work on getting his head on straight and two, he wanted to give the injured man time to heal. Now that he’d been informed this morning by some tall, blond, flamboyant medic that Cassian is doing much better, he’d decided to visit. He feels bad for sneaking away from Baze—his constant shadow since he’d first awakened in the medical bay of the base—because he knows the man is only trying to protect him, but he needs the breathing room and the alone time knowing he can stand on his own two feet. He’ll apologize to the warrior later.

 

Bodhi walks into Cassian’s room as the door slides open and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The air practically suffocates him with the amount of anger permeating it. A sandy-haired man stands in the middle of the room with his back to the door, arguing with Cassian, who is dressed in simple cotton clothes and standing stiffly at attention while facing the man, his eyes staring resolutely at a point over the sandy-haired man’s shoulders. It is Cassian, therefore, who sees Bodhi first. His eyes flick to Bodhi as the pilot enters and the cold, detached gaze makes Bodhi want to disappear, until Cassian registers who it is and his eyes soften, before they return to staring at a point now just over Bodhi’s shoulder.

 

Bodhi will be the first to admit that he is not medically trained, but even he can see that Cassian should _not_ be standing, and most certainly shouldn’t be standing at attention. The captain is putting on a good show and Bodhi admires his strength, but he can see the tension in the other man, the slight hunch to his shoulders in an effort to take pressure off of his still damaged core. Not to mention the fact that he leans ever so slightly to his right in an effort to keep the weight off of his more injured leg. It incenses Bodhi and makes him want to slap the severe-faced man forcing Cassian to stand, but he doesn’t. When all eyes turn to him, it's tempting to sink into the floor. “Uh,” he stammers, “I think I’ll come back later.”

 

“Bodhi,” Cassian’s firm voice stops him from fleeing. “There is no need for you to leave. You have every right to be here.”

 

He doesn’t say it, but Bodhi can hear the underlying meaning: _please don’t leave_. At his friend’s silent plea, he stiffens his spine, lets the door close behind him and crosses his arms. He won’t leave Cassian alone to face this pompous nerf-herder. It’s the least he can do after all that the Captain has done for him.

 

The General loses interest in Bodhi and turns back to Cassian. “Captain Andor, it is completely impractical to award every person involved in the battle of Scarif a medal of appreciation. There were hundreds of people involved. Where would we draw the line? What’s to stop any person involved in a battle from here on out from demanding a medal?”

 

Cassian’s face hardens at the man’s callous talk. “This has nothing to do with _practicality_. We are talking about people, General Draven, most of whom lost their lives. I am not requesting that you award _every_ person a medal, I am telling you that I refuse to be honored unless every person who _volunteered_ in the first wave is honored as well. While everyone involved deserves thanks, the volunteers who did the right thing even when it went against the Alliance’s orders deserve recognition.”

 

“Which is exactly why _you_ should be part of the medal ceremony this afternoon for the two men who blew up the Death Star. Without you, they couldn’t have done what they did!” the General exclaims.

 

“Without _us,_ ” Cassian stresses the plural pronoun. “I did no more than the next rebel who volunteered. I certainly don’t deserve a medal, but they do.”

 

“You’re insufferable! I’m trying to reward you!”

 

“Which is precisely the problem!" Cassian yells, accent thickening as his cool exterior finally cracks. "I could care less about being honored! You only wish to award me because of my rank and you are depriving more deserving people—with lower rank or with none at all—their just recognition! Not recognizing the true courage and sacrifice of all those involved—something that the Alliance should be _proud_ of—is a crime worthy of the Empire!” Cassian exclaims passionately.

 

Bodhi watches this exchange silently, doing his best to offer moral support to Cassian and all the while watching in awe as he stands up to authority for the sake of others. His calm, his courage, his unwavering belief in what is right, this is the kind of man Bodhi has always wanted to be. Bodhi decides right then that he is going to learn everything he can from Cassian. He's going to become the kind of man Galen thought he could be.

 

“You watch your tongue, Captain! Those are treasonous words and you’re very close to insubordination! Someone needs to beat some sense into that thick head of yours!” the General snarls, stepping forward to shove Cassian roughly.

 

Cassian's eyes widen fractionally as he stumbles backwards, flinching in pain, and Bodhi sees red. _How dare this bastard physically threaten an already injured hero who is just standing up for what's right! I'm not about to stand by silently and let my friend get hurt!_

 

“Actually,” Bodhi speaks up, steeling his nerve, “I think you should listen to him.”

 

The severe-faced man whips around to scowl at Bodhi. “And who in the Galaxy are you!?”

 

Intimidated by the General’s aggressive tone, he widens his stance and raises his chin. _If Cassian can face down this bully while he's half dead on his feet, the least I can do is try._ “My name’s Bodhi Rook, sir.”

 

“And what gives you the right to voice your opinion?!”

 

“Uh, well, because I’m the pilot,” he stammers. _Brilliant, Rook. What a scathing response that was! I'm sure the man is quivering in his boots! Job well done. You might as well melt into the floor now!_ his inner voice berates.

 

“The pilot?” the General scoffs. “We have tons of pilots. What makes you so special?”

 

Bodhi can’t answer that because he doesn’t believe there _is_ anything that sets him apart. His resolve wavers beneath the General's blistering gaze, but suddenly Cassian is standing by Bodhi's side.

 

“This,” the Captain states confidently, standing tall and proud, all traces of earlier pain gone, “is the man who brought warning of the Death Star to the Rebellion. Without him, the entire mission against it would have failed and this base—along with the entire Alliance itself—would be nothing more than lost hope and pieces of debris floating in space.”

 

“Ah, the Imperial pilot, you mean,” Draven clarifies dismissively.

 

Bodhi doesn’t think it’s worth correcting the man, but Cassian obviously disagrees. “ _Ex_ -Imperial pilot,” Cassian emphasizes vehemently. “Bodhi Rook conducted himself honorably during the mission to Scarif on behalf of the Alliance and is as worthy and loyal a Rebel as I have ever had the pleasure of working with.”

 

The General opens his mouth to issue an angry retort, but, just at that moment, the door behind Bodhi and Cassian opens. Both men step quickly to one side, revealing a woman in white who Bodhi recognizes as part of the Council.

 

“I think I’ve heard quite enough, Draven,” the woman greets coolly. “You spewed your poison loudly enough that I could hear you conversation all the way at the end of the hall. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the base could hear it.”

 

General Draven flushes angrily and once again opens his mouth to speak, but is once again cut off by the woman. “General Draven, I respect your position within this Aliiance and I thank you for all that you do for the Rebellion. You and I have had our differences, but I implore you to truly hear what I’m saying. I encourage you to listen to everyone and not value ranks so highly as you do. Sometimes the ‘lowliest’ of people can make all of the difference; isn’t that what this rebellion is built on? Just yesterday, a farm boy destroyed the greatest weapon this galaxy has ever seen. Days before that, a band of rebels that included countless people you’ve probably never given a second thought to came together and won the first true victory our Rebellion has ever seen. If we do not honor them, then I agree with Captain Andor: we are no better than the Empire.”

 

The man stares at her in silence and Bodhi thinks he’s heard nothing, so he’s surprised when the General nods grudgingly. “I hear you, Councilor Mothma. Thank you, and thank you Captain Andor, for showing me the error of my judgement," he grinds out between clenched teeth. "While I do not agree with all that you have said, you have helped me see that honoring all of the volunteers is not the small, meaningless gesture that I initially thought. I shall make the necessary arrangements. Good day,” he bids farewell curtly, exiting the room.

 

While not a complete change of heart, it’s a step in the right direction.

 

The woman—Councilor Mothma, Bodhi now knows—lets out a sigh and moves to follow him. “I’m sorry I did not arrive sooner to spare you that. Now, I have an entire base to move, so I must depart, but I will see you this afternoon at the ceremony. Good day, gentlemen.” And she’s gone.

 

“Kriff,” Bodhi remarks in awe. “What a leader.”

 

“Yes, she’s quite something,” Cassian agrees.

 

Something in his voice doesn't sound right to Bodhi, so he turns to the other man with concern, watching in horror and surprise as Cassian practically deflates before his eyes. He curls forward to relieve muscles trembling from the effort of keeping him upright and begins listing dangerously to one side.

 

“Whoa!” Bodhi exclaims, reaching towards the Captain and grabbing onto his arm in order to keep him from falling. “Hold on there, don’t fall on me now.”

 

The other man huffs tiredly. “I don’t think I have much say in the matter.”

 

Bodhi shifts his grasp so that Cassian’s arm is slung over his shoulder just in time, as one of the Captain’s legs gives out. Bodhi’s unprepared for the added weight—and there’s more weight than he anticipated, given that Cassian is not much taller than he is ( _the man must be all muscle_ _,_ he thinks distractedly)—so he staggers a few steps before steadying. Bodhi’s injured arm twinges a little as the weight pulls at it, but Cassian is in worse shape than he is so he thrusts the pain away. “Let’s get you sitting before you make us both fall.”

 

Cassian says nothing, only clamps his lips in a tight line, which Bodhi thinks is a pretty good indication of just how much pain the other man is in. He wishes the General were still here because now he has the gumption to actually slap the man for what he did. Since the General is gone, Bodhi settles for imagining it in great detail.

 

Stumbling their way to the bed, Bodhi manages to get Cassian lying down without injuring either of them further.

 

“Thank you,” Cassian gasps, collecting his breath.

 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Bodhi says in surprise, not used to being thanked. “But really, it’s the least I could do. I mean, you’ve done way more for me, so…” he trails off, not sure of where to go from here. He realizes he’s never really spoken with Cassian outside of a life-or-death situation and he’s worried an awkward silence is about to fall, until the other man speaks up.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

At first, Bodhi doesn’t know how to answer that question because he wants to answer honestly—not just the usual “I’m fine” response that people typically expect when they voice that question, because he knows that's not what Cassian's asking—but he doesn’t really know the honest answer. There have been moments when he’s felt okay, particularly after his talk with Jyn, but there have also been moments he’s wanted to break down sobbing in an isolated, dark corner. Also, his arm still aches because he hasn’t bothered to get it treated beyond his initial stay in medical—he’s been a little preoccupied—but it’s his mind, really, that hurts the most.

 

Everything they’ve been through since Jedha would have anyone’s mind reeling and struggling to come to terms with events, but Bodhi’s mind is a thousand times worse because his was already fractured by Saw Gerrera and he never had time to put it fully back together.

 

He must have been quiet for too long because Cassian calls lowly, “Hey, are you okay?” his voice, quiet and intense. It's so reminiscent of the first time Bodhi ever heard it back in Saw Gerrera’s prison, the voice which helped his broken mind remember who he is and start healing, that he considers sharing what he hasn’t spoken of to anyone.

 

“Well? Uhm? Not really,” he confesses hesitantly.

 

Cassian’s eyebrows furrow in concern, but he stays silent, for which Bodhi is grateful. If Cassian had said something, the pilot doesn’t think he would have had the courage to continue.

 

“I’ve got some scrapes and cuts—though nothing so bad as you or even Chirrut—but, well, that’s not really the problem,” he admits. _Now or never, Rook. Do you trust this man? Do you trust him not to look at you differently?_ He thinks back to the time when his mind was scattered in a million different directions and he no longer knew who he was, until a voice had called to him. The voice of the man sitting before him. _Yes, I trust him._

“Have you… have you heard of a Bor Gullet and what they do?”

 

Cassian’s eyes narrow. “Yes…”

 

He looks down at his hands, unable to maintain eye contact. “Well, there was one at Saw Gerrera’s that I—with which I got a rather up close and personal visit. Gerrera thought I might be a trap and wanted to verify that I was who I said I was and that I actually had been in contact with Galen Erso..." he pauses, shuddering at the memory of the creature approaching and latching onto him, turning him inside out all while Gerrera's high, whispy voice droned on in the background. "It, it ripped open my mind, Cassian. It ripped it open and took each piece of me and tore it further to shreds. All I could do was sit and scream as it displayed all of my faults and shortcomings before me, destroyed the few cherished moments in my life and laid waste to my sanity.”

 

He breathes in shakily, a single tear leaking out of his eye to fall down onto the floor. “I—I lost any sense of myself, utterly and completely. I sat in that cell, desperately trying to scrape together some understanding, some scrap of who I was, but I couldn’t do it. I had nothing to anchor me. Not until… Not until you came along, and I can’t thank you enough for what you did. I wouldn’t be here without you.” He stops there, having laid everything out bare on the table, already cursing himself for his weakness. _What were you thinking?! What possessed you to share such a vile, pathetic moment in your life!_ He waits for the pity. Waits for the judgement that will send him spiraling down into a pit of self-loathing. But it never comes.

 

Instead he hears explosive swearing and looks up in astonishment to see Cassian’s thunderous face.“Spineless, worthless excuse for bantha fodder!” the man fumes. “If he were not dead already I would—” he snaps his jaw shut, cutting himself off forcefully. Then he looks at Bodhi with kind eyes. There’s no pity there. “You, my friend, continuously amaze me. I don’t know anyone, _anyone_ _,_ who has survived an encounter with a Bor Gullet and come away intact, let alone then proceeded to participate and play a crucial role in a major mission.”

 

Bodhi’s stunned, unsure of what to say to that. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t expected _praise_ _._ He hardly thinks he's worth praise.

 

“Thank you for sharing with me,” Cassian continues through Bodhi’s silence. “I know that can’t have been easy and I am honored that you trusted me anyway.”

 

“Thank you for listening,” Bodhi returns, voice rough with emotion. “Just, don’t tell anyone else, please. I—I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

 

“Of course. I will take it to my grave.”

 

Bodhi pales. “There’s no need for that!”

 

“It’s a figure of speech, Bodhi,” the man reassures the pilot gently. “I have no intention of dying anytime soon. In the meantime, if it helps to talk or if you ever want a listening ear, I am here for you.”

 

Bodhi blinks, unaccustomed to having friendship and comfort offered so freely, without strings attached. He has to fight down the emotions that threaten to close his throat. “Yes, well, thank you. I’m sure I’ll take you up on that offer. I mean, you’ve obviously had a lot more time than I have had to get used to these sorts of things and I’d appreciate any tips you have for handling them.”

 

Cassian snorts. “I can’t be that much older than you.”

 

“What? Of course you are!” the pilot exclaims. Cassian has such an air of confidence and experience mixed with world-weariness that Bodhi thought the other man was older for sure. Plus, he was a captain, and usually it takes years of experience to be promoted to captain.

 

“Oh really? Just how old do you think I am?” Cassian demands, one eyebrow raised.

 

Bodhi winces. _Walked myself right into that one…_ “Uh, thirty-three?”

 

“Well at least you didn’t say forty,” the man grumbles. “But you’re wrong. I’m twenty-six.”

 

Bodhi’s shocked. “No you’re not.”

 

Cassian stares at him in silence.

 

Bodhi backtracks quickly. “What I mean is, actually, that you have the air of someone much much older!”

 

“So you’re saying I act like an old man.”

 

“No!” Bodhi disagrees, horrified. “You just—I thought—well—”

 

Cassian’s lips quirk up in amusement. “Would you like a shovel? It might help you dig yourself into that hole a little faster.”

 

Bodhi snaps his mouth shut, realizing his attempt is futile. Instead he blurts, “Sorry!”

 

Cassian just waves it away. “I’ve been called worse, believe me. Being seen as ‘old’ doesn’t even make it onto the list of top hundred.” The man pauses. “Actually, it probably doesn’t even make it on the top two hundred.”

 

It’s hard to wrap his head around the fact that this man, who’s done so much and is clearly such a respected officer in the rebellion, is only a year older than Bodhi himself. And while Bodhi’s not going to try to explain to Cassian why he thought he was older—because that didn’t work out so well the first time—it’s not that he _looks_ old, it’s that he seems too knowledgeable and confident, too world-weary for someone who’s only twenty-six. Bodhi has seen how much responsibility Cassian carries on his shoulders and the pilot had thought for sure that the rebellion wouldn’t require so much from anyone as young as their mid-twenties. He guesses he was wrong.

 

They talk for a while longer, about home planets and such, all easy conversation to understand each other better. Well, really it’s Bodhi that does most of the talking while Cassian listens attentively, occasionally offering a comment or two.

 

Eventually Bodhi decides it’s time he left, if for no other reason than to find Baze in order to stop the man from frantically searching for him (which he’s sure he is) and apologize to the man. He rises to leave, bidding Cassian farewell and promising to see him before the ceremony. Just as he’s about to cue the door to open, Cassian’s voice stops him.

 

“You should get that arm looked at again.”

 

Bodhi freezes. He’d never mentioned his injured arm, only that he’d gotten some scrapes and cuts, but Cassian had figured it out anyway. _Damn him and his observational skills!_ Without turning around, Bodhi tries to refuse. “No, it’s really not that bad. And besides, I’m really not interested in the sympathy and pity that whoever treats me will look at me with, nor am I interested in being treated like a fragile person about to break,” he reveals, thinking that if anyone would understand his feelings, it would be Cassian.

 

“Ask for Vorin Yevez and say that I sent you. Vorin won’t give you any sympathy or treat you like you’re about to break, trust me. He’s no-nonsense and blunt, and even borderline rude sometimes.”

 

After quiet consideration, he relents. “Okay. Thank you.” The door slides shut behind him and he still has a smile on his face when he pivots to walk away down the hall and nearly runs smack into Baze, who is leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize, of course, that Draven probably isn’t all bad, but I didn’t find him particularly warm and fuzzy in the movie and therefore I’m not shining a beautiful light on him in this chapter.
> 
> Bodhi and Cassian are just friends in my story. I fully respect all of those who ship them—I do too—but for this story, they’re just friends.
> 
> Also, you may have noticed the number of chapters has extended again... I keep thinking, "oh this is where it should end!" And then my brain laughs and goes "nope, we can do this and this and this." But I'm pretty confident it will finish at 17 or 18 chapters.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mix of pride and grief flash across her face. “I hadn’t realized you didn’t know,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before she clears her throat. “You may have delivered the death blow, but you wouldn’t have been able to do that without the help of Rogue One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right so I tried to do some outside perspectives of Rogue One and started with Luke, and someone also mentioned interest in seeing interaction between Han and the crew, so I tried a little bit from his POV as well. There's not much interaction, but I'll try to put more in later. Both Han and Luke were very difficult for me to write, so I sincerely hope they come across okay.  
> Just a word of warning, I definitely start out with Luke being pretty immature and a little whiny. Don't get me wrong, I love Luke and he absolutely turns into an awesome and amazing hero, but I've always felt that he's still very young in A New Hope and unlike Leia, hasn't matured a ton. So please bear with me as he gets his priorities straightened out.

Luke Skywalker is feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and frustrated. Just days ago, he'd had nothing more to worry about than trying to convince his uncle to let him leave home, and now he’s part of a galactic war where the stakes are freedom or enslavement of the entire galaxy, he’s quite possibly a Jedi, he found and lost the only mentor he knows, met an incredible Princess, oh and he blew up the Empire’s superweapon. Suffice to say he’s feeling a little dazed.

 

Last night after his triumphant return, people walking down the halls stopped to stare at him or slapped him on the back or thanked him, and he’d even had a few people bow to him. At first he’d enjoyed the attention and appreciation because he felt proud of his accomplishments. He’d blown up the Death Star! He’s a hero! How much more exciting could his life get?! But then this morning, people had gradually noticed him less and less, and had stopped treating him any differently. He knows it sounds petty, but he’d never had that sort of recognition before so to lose it, well, he’s having a hard time dealing with it, let alone understanding why it’s suddenly stopped. Are their memories really that short?

 

An hour ago he’d decide to take his frustration out on repairing his X-Wing (it’s still strange to think of it as his, now), which is where Leia finds him.

 

“Luke?” she calls, climbing up the metal ladder to sit on the platform so that she’s level with him. “You know we have engineers who can take care of all of this?”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, continuing his work, “I just need to feel like I’m actually accomplishing something.”

 

“Luke that’s ridiculous!” She rolls her eyes exasperatedly and leans forward to place her hand over his, stilling its movement. “In less than twenty-four hours you’ve accomplished more than many have in a lifetime!”

 

He glances at her genuine and friendly face, feeling guilty and childish but unable to stop himself from sullenly mumbling, “Tell that to everyone else.”

 

Her smile fades slightly as she frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

“We just destroyed the Death Star! _I_ just destroyed the Death Star!” he exclaims, running his hand through his hair. “And now no one seems to remember that! I just helped deal the Empire a crushing blow and it seems like it’s all but forgotten,” he complains. “Everyone’s just running around and working on moving the base.”

 

Leia leans back, breaking contact with him but maintaining her gaze. Her eyes soften in sympathy and a small part of him wonders at her maturity and leadership, while here he is acting like a child. “Luke, I understand where you’re coming from, but you’ve only been a part of this rebellion for a day. _A day_ ,” she emphasizes, but not in a way that makes him feel judged. She looks around at the rest of the people busily working in the hangar and raises her arms to gesture at all of them. “Many people here have fought against the Empire for a _lifetime_ and most have never had more than a shred of hope that we will win. It’s their commitment to that sliver of hope that has made all of this possible, but it’s also what makes them cautious and realistic,” she explains. “Our win feels like a crushing blow to you, and it is certainly something to be proud of, but we can’t afford to just sit on our laurels and celebrate.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m the one—” he starts, but Leia puts a finger across his lips to silence him.

 

“Nothing good is going to come from what you’re about to say, Luke,” she murmurs softly. “So please don’t share it. I forgive you your behavior because you are new to our cause and you have lost many people close to you in a very short amount of time, but do not make the mistake of thinking you are the _only_ one who has lost, because you are not,” she admonishes him and he catches a glimpse of the proud leader that she is. “Between _Rogue One_ ’s mission on Scarif and the run on the Death Star, nearly all of us have lost someone—” her voice breaks for a moment“—in the last four days. Luke,” she whispers, tears gathering in the edges of her eyes, “I lost my entire _planet._ ”

 

He stares at her dumbfounded, before the horror of what she’s gone through truly dawns on him and he feels like complete and utter bantha fodder. It had never connected in his mind that flying through a debris field of the broken planet Alderaan meant that the _Princess_ of Alderaan’s planet was gone. Here before him is this incredible rebel—who can’t be much older than he is—who leads the Resistance in a galactic struggle of good vs evil, who took the time to comfort _him_ when his mentor died even though she had just lost countless people she loved, and who continues to help run the Alliance even now, all while he sits here moping.

 

“Leia,” he starts, ashamed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about…” he doesn’t know how to finish.

 

“About anyone but yourself?” she finishes gently.

 

He nods shamefacedly.

 

She sighs and suddenly the calm and collected leader is back, no trace remains of the grief stricken person she’d let him see moments before. “It’s okay, Luke.”

 

They lapse into silence for a moment, before she continues with a small chuckle. “Ironically, I came here to inform you that the Council is awarding you a medal of commendation for your outstanding performance.”

 

Now Luke feels even more like an immature, insensitive idiot. He flushes scarlet, his dreams of adoration from the rest of the rebels rightly squashed by a healthy dose of reality and perspective. “Oh, they don’t need to do that,” he stammers, changing his tune from minutes before.

 

She half-smiles at him. “No, they don’t, but you’re right in that people do need to celebrate and this is a wonderful reason. No, we can’t sit back and rest on our laurels, but we can take thirty minutes this afternoon for a ceremony. You _are_ a hero after all. You, Han and Chewie, and all of the members of _Rogue One_ are going to receive medals for going above and beyond.”

 

 _Rogue One._ _There it is again. She says it like I’m supposed to understand what it means and it clearly means a lot to her…_ “What’s ‘ _Rogue One_?’” he queries in confusion.

 

A mix of pride and grief flashes across her face. “I didn’t realize you hadn't heard,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before she clears her throat. “You may have delivered the death blow, but you wouldn’t have been able to do that without the help of _Rogue One_.

 

“We hadn’t known about the Death Star for very long, in fact we got very little warning of it,” she explains. “Just before I was captured, a captain brought the first word of it back to the Alliance from a source that claimed an Imperial pilot had defected with a message of the utmost importance about the Empire’s new weapon. We dispatched a mission led by the captain who first brought us word and he confirmed both that a brave Imperial pilot had indeed defected and that a weapon of never before seen destructive capabilities had been built. The engineer who built the Death Star, however, was no friend to the Empire. Didn’t you think it strange that something so powerful as the Death Star had such an exploitable weakness?” she asks, a small smile on her face.

 

He listens in amazement as she tells him the story. Of a captain, a rebel, a pilot, two guardians and a droid, who, along with a handful of other volunteers, launched the Alliance’s first ever offensive against the Empire in order to obtain the Death Star’s plans… In order to stop twenty years of struggle and work from being destroyed in a manner of seconds by a planet killer. He cannot even imagine the courage it must have taken to defy the will of the Council and fly a single ship to almost certain death without any backup or the support of the Rebellion, all because in their hearts they had known it was _right._ It makes his mission seem small in comparison—he’d had an entire fleet with him and the full support and will of the Council. As he listens to her recount their mission, hears of their bravery and sacrifice and staggering losses, he finally starts to understand the true stakes of this galactic war he’s entered. While he’d been prepared to give his life up to _destroy_ the Death Star, these people had been prepared to—and some of them had—give the ultimate sacrifice for a mere _chance_ at destroying it _._ He’s proud to be awarded alongside them.

 

He can tell by the way she speaks about the captain, how her jaw tightens as she tells Luke how gravely he was injured, that she knows him, and he wonders how. A small ray of jealousy flares in his chest, before he shoves it away, unwilling to indulge such pettiness again.

 

“Their bravery and sacrifice, along with yours, Han’s and Chewie’s, exemplifies what this rebellion is all about, what we are built on, which is why we are honoring all of you today,” she finishes, smiling.

 

*

 

Luke takes some time to wander the base after that, searching for a quieter place for him to try to clear his mind and meditate the way Ben had counseled him. He finally stumbles on a portion of the base that has obviously already been transferred to the new location, leaving behind nothing but flickering lighting and various miscellaneous items strewn about, such as tables and cabinets. He walks into the large room, lost in thought and headed for the far side, when something whispers at him to watch where he’s going. His eyes focus just in time to trip and stumble to the floor in order to avoid walking right into a man with short black hair, who's sitting on the floor, apparently meditating.

 

“I’m sorry!” Luke exclaims. “I didn’t see you there!”

 

“Fear not,” the man replies calmly. “I would have moved if you were about to strike me, but I knew you would realize my presence.”

 

Luke finds that statement odd, given that he _had_ been about to run into the man, but he lets it go. He rises to his feet, dusting himself off and offers another apology.

 

“There is no need for apology, Luke Skywalker,” the man reassures him, eyes still closed.

 

Luke stares at the man, confused. Of course most everyone recognizes him now, but this man hasn’t opened his eyes, so unless he knows Luke’s voice by heart—which seems doubtful given Luke has never seen this man before… “How do you know who I am?”

 

“Call it an educated guess,” the man replies vaguely. “Who else would seek a place of peace besides a young man who has just begun to learn of the complexities, atrocities and troubles of the world?”

 

 _That was one hell of a guess,_ he thinks to himself. “Well you are not a young man,” he retorts, “and I doubt you’re just learning of the ‘complexities of the world,’ so why are _you_ here?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes how rude they sound, but it’s too late to take them back.

 

The man only smiles. “I need the quiet to listen.”

 

“To what?”

 

“Everything. The atrocities, the joys, the hopes, the dreams, the failures.”

 

“And you know of them? Of dreams and failures?” he asks curiously.

 

“More than you would think.”

 

Luke decides he’s getting nowhere with this line of questioning and, while he initially sought this place in order to be alone, he finds himself unwilling to stop speaking with this man. “May I ask who you are?”

 

“Of course,” is all he says.

 

After waiting several moments for the man to continue, Luke prompts, “Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“I asked you a question.”

 

“And I answered.”

 

“No you didn’t!”

 

“You asked if you could ask who I am. And I responded yes, you can ask who I am. You did not ask, ‘who are you?’”

 

“I was trying to be polite,” Luke grumbles.

 

“Well your attempt at manners only made for confusion. You seem troubled,” the man remarks, diverting the line of questioning, “Would perhaps talking to an old man relieve some of your worry?”

 

Normally Luke would have said no, no way would he unburden himself to a complete stranger, but strangely enough he finds himself willingly sharing his fears and concerns. Fear that he won’t be able to learn the Jedi ways now that his mentor is gone, fear that even if he is, it won’t be enough to help defeat the Empire, grief at the loss of Kenobi, Biggs, and his aunt and uncle, and uncomfortableness with how childish he’d acted that morning with Leia, which makes him no longer feel worthy of a medal.

 

The man hums. “That is indeed quite a lot for a soul as young as yours to sort through, especially in only a few days. All I can offer you is to trust in the Force; it is strong with you, it is calling to you and it will not lead you astray.” The man gets to his feet, his eyes finally opening, and Luke is surprised to see that the man is blind. “Now, I am needed elsewhere and you are going to be late to your ceremony, unless you can clean off all of that engine grease from your hands and hair in less than thirty minutes. Perhaps you do not wish the attention, but if that is the case, then embrace the Alliance’s cause. You have given them hope and you have given them someone to rally around. For their sake, if not your own, do not deny them that. Good day, Skywalker. I know we will meet again, sooner than you think.” And with that he walks away, picking his way effortlessly through things his blind eyes should not be able to see, leaving a stunned Luke behind.

 

*

 

In the afternoon, just a little before the ceremony begins, Jyn finds herself walking to fetch Cassian, with Baze and Bodhi flanking her. Chirrut is missing, but Baze doesn’t seem concerned, assuring her that he’d turn up when he was needed.

 

Bodhi had informed them just a few hours before of the impromptu recognition ceremony, where members of _Rogue One_ were to be honored alongside the people who blew up the Death Star. Initially Jyn had scoffed, thinking it ridiculous and unfair only to recognize a handful of the participants, until Bodhi explained that thanks to Cassian—and himself, he admits hesitantly— _all_  of the volunteers were being awarded medals equally, even post-humously. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes that Jyn hasn’t seen since Scarif and while she could skip the hoity-toity ceremony, she’ll embrace it in honor of all those who sacrificed and because she loves seeing that spark in Bodhi’s eyes.

 

Waiting outside of Cassian’s medical room when they arrive is Chirrut. He gives them a large smile, before bowing theatrically and gesturing for them to precede him. They all enter and find Cassian already clothed in his dress uniform—Jyn’s heart does _not_ stutter, not one bit—and perched on the edge of the bed. He half-smiles at them, shaking hands with both Chirrut and Baze, neither of whom had seen the Captain awake since Scarif.

 

“Ah, Captain Andor,” Chirrut greets. “It is good to see you awake!”

 

There’s a pregnant pause.

 

The monk sighs in exasperation. “It is a figure of speech, people. I am allowed to use a figure of speech even if it references sight.” He mutters something else under his breath, but too quietly for Jyn to hear, though it’s probably an insult.

 

“Thank you,” Cassian responds warmly. “I’m glad to be awake as well and pleased that you appear to be recovered.” He looks at both guardians before continuing earnestly, “I have not yet had the chance to thank both of you, for your aid in the mission and for your help to me personally. I probably would not be here without you,” he dips his head in respect, “so thank you.”

 

“There is no need for thanks, little brother,” Baze rumbles, eyes smiling. “It is what friends do for one another.”

 

“Well, thank you all the same.”

 

“Right, well I hate to interrupt” Jyn breaks in, “but we should probably be going. Cassian, I brought this for you,” she says, bringing a hover chair into the room—she’d left it in the hall until then because she’d anticipated that he would not respond favorably to it.

 

Sure enough, he does not disappoint. He stares at the chair with utter malice, growling out, “I’m not using that.”

 

“Okay,” she panders agreeably. “So you can walk from here to the other end of the base where the hall is without falling?”

 

He looks away from her so she can no longer see his face, but just before he does, she sees his glare harden. “If I have to, then yes. I would just as soon not go to the ceremony, however.”

 

“Well that’s just not an option. If you don’t go then we’re not going—which I’m sure none of us would mind terribly—” she looks at her companions to make sure, only receiving nods of agreement, “but that would probably mean they’d delay the ceremony until someone can locate us, creating a huge fuss and drawing even more attention than you want.”

 

“I am not going to sit in that thing while the entire Rebellion looks on.”

 

“Of course you are,” she contradicts in exasperation. “You’re not going to make it without it and I’m not about to let Yevez’s hard work healing you go to waste. There’s no shame in being injured while fighting for the Alliance,” she adds with more understanding.

 

“I am not ashamed of being injured, I just don’t want people to see me as an invalid. I can’t afford to be, given my position. I don’t have many things, but I admit that a flaw of mine is that I have a little pride.”

 

“Well you’re not walking from here to the chamber and you’re not standing for the ceremony,” she declares, folding her arms.

 

Cassian turns back to her, pinning her with a fierce gaze. “I can do it. I can make it through the ceremony,” Cassian disagrees vehemently.

 

She opens her mouth to argue, when Bodhi interrupts. “He’s right.”

 

She whips around to glare at the pilot. Instead of backing down as she’d hoped he would when faced with her stare, he stands taller and shares a look with Cassian. “He can do it.” There’s not a shred of doubt in Bodhi’s voice. Cassian looks at him with gratitude, and Jyn wonders where this sudden understanding between the two men has come from.

 

At that moment, Baze interjects. “I propose a compromise. You use the transportation provided in order to get most of the way to the chamber and then once we are about to run into people, you walk on your own two feet for the ceremony. All the while we will be there to support you should you require it.”

 

“Yes,” Chirrut adds, “we won’t let you damage your image of a stoic, impervious captain by fainting in front of everyone.”

 

Cassian huffs in amusement and exasperation. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

Han’s standing in the hallway outside of the ceremonial room, pacing back in forth in front of Chewie, muttering under his breath about farm boys and their ability to lose track of time, completely ignoring the stares he’s drawing from the six other people standing in the hall. All six show signs of battle and two are on crutches.

 

Just then, Chewie moans, drawing his attention to Luke’s approach.

 

“There you are, kid! Where in the hell have you been?” the smuggler demands.

 

“Uh, nowhere,” Luke replies quickly, looking around. “Is that the crew of _Rogue One_?” he asks curiously, gesturing at the other figures waiting in the hall. 

 

Han nods. “So I’ve gathered.”

 

“I thought there were more?”

 

Han did, too. In his conversation with several other pilots at lunch, they had said there were a total of eleven survivors, which hadn’t sounded like a lot to Han, but the other rebels had made him understand that given the conditions _Rogue One_ had fought under, it was astounding that anyone had made it back.

 

Han’s never been a "for the Cause" kind of person, but even he can acknowledge an incredible feat and admire what _Rogue One_ accomplished without compromising his own independent attitude. Plus, he won’t admit this to anyone aloud, but Luke’s talk of the Rebellion has begun to worm its way under the smuggler’s skin. He’s already decided to stick around for a little while longer, to see what this whole “Alliance against the Empire” thing is all about, but he’s not sure just how long it will be. Though there’s a certain Princess who is definitely part of the reason he’s staying… for now.

 

Just then, Han hears footsteps behind him and he pivots to see a group of five walking down the hall towards him. _This must be the last of them,_ he thinks to himself.

 

In the lead is a brown haired woman with fierce gray eyes and an air of confidence that Han thinks would give Leia a run for her money. The woman is followed by a dark haired man—a captain, Han identifies by his uniform—who walks slowly but purposefully, shoulders tall and chin up, a slight limp the only indication of injuries sustained on Scarif. He’s flanked by a skinny man and a lion of a man, both of whom walk so closely to the captain that their arms practically brush. As they pass Han to join the other six crew members, the man who brings up the rear passes Han and the smuggler sees that he’s blind. Despite that, he appears to wink at Luke as he strolls by and the kid stares at him, mouth slightly ajar. Han makes a mental note to remind himself to ask the kid about it later.

 

These five rebels all show signs of battle and fatigue, but there’s passion in their eyes that Han grudgingly admires. He can imagine the courage it took to disobey orders and embark on what was surely a suicide mission, because it’s something he would do—well, except for the last part… the idea of sacrificing himself for a cause doesn’t appeal to him... yet.

 

Just then, the doors open and they all file in, walking down the carpeted aisle as a group, _Rogue One_ in the lead. When they reach the end of the aisle, they fan out to the left, leaving room for Luke, Han and Chewie to move to the right.

 

Leia greets them all with pride, bestowing upon each person (and Wookie) a medal and reading out post-humous awards as well.

 

Han watches _Rogue One_ ’s core group of five out of the corner of his eye, because they intrigue him. They are grouped in a half circle around the Captain, all standing tall and proud. Every once in a while they surreptitiously reach out to steady the man in the center, to which he smiles in thanks. They’re all battered from war, all of them veterans in one way or another, and Han decides maybe he can learn something from them. No, he’s not about to get all mushy and entertain the idea of dying for the Alliance, but he thinks these people have proven that there is merit in being part of something greater than oneself, so Han thinks maybe it's worth giving it a shot.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there we go... I hope Han comes across okay!  
> It's always irked me that Leia is the one who comforts Luke in the Millennium Falcon after Kenobi's death, when she's the one who just lost her entire planet... so I wanted to address that.  
> Also CHEWIE GETS A MEDAL, TOO! Because it always bothered me that he didn't...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the mention of sleep, she purses her lips, her mind recalling the moment she’d first awakened after the Death Star’s destruction. She stands for a moment in silence, debating whether she wants to continue or not and she’s grateful that he just sits there watching her, giving her the time she needs to decide. At last she requests hesitantly, “May I sit for a moment?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback and support! It means a lot and is incredibly helpful to me in crafting the rest of this story! I'm particularly glad that Han came across okay. It's inspired me to include him in some later chapters.  
> But enough talk. Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

The following day the base is a hive of activity. Many transports carrying people and machines had already left the night before, but the entire process wouldn’t be complete for another three days, with ships leaving every hour.

Cassian has already been assigned to depart on one of the last shuttles, due to his status on the injured list. It seems a little backwards to him—though he’s totally fine with being one of the last to leave, prefers it that way actually—but the way it had been set up is that people in medical above a certain health level are the first to leave, while those below a certain level are the last. The reasoning, he was told, is so that they have more time to heal and stabilize. Cassian doesn’t feel like he needs to be treated with such care, but Vorin hadn’t changed his file quick enough to accommodate his request, and thus he’d automatically been assigned one of the last shuttles due to his rank and his status. The rest of his _Rogue One_ crew are schedule to depart in thirty minutes—he knows because he’d finally gotten his hands on a digital device (because Leia had finally caved and given him one) so he can update himself on everything. Most importantly, so he can monitor the complex system of informants and allies he’s built across the galaxy. Four days was far too long for him to be silent. Part of him regrets that his friends will be leaving today, but the evacuation is already hectic enough, he isn’t going to insist on them changing things.

Plus, unlike most people—who won’t know until they land—his clearance is high enough that he knows exactly where the new base is located (in fact, he’d been on the original mission that scouted it). He’d just as soon delay dealing with that cold for as long as possible.

His new friends have other ideas, apparently. He’s sitting in the chair by his bed, decoding a letter about the Empire’s movements since the destruction of their super weapon—provided by one of his deep cover informants—when his door slides open and in strolls Chirrut.

“Good morning, Captain Andor,” he greets cheerily.

“Good morning, Chirrut. You don’t need to call me that, please. I’m just a friend.”

“Ah, but a friend whom I respect and therefore deserves the title,” the other man says seriously, and Cassian can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he truly means it; his poker face is just that good.

“I do not deserve such respect, but even if I did, a title is not necessary. I respect you deeply but do not address you formally. In my opinion, titles are only barriers that separate people and create arbitrary differences in rank and hierarchy. I do not hold to that attitude beyond when it is strictly necessary for my job.”

The monk smiles. “You are wise beyond your years, my friend.”

Cassian frowns suspiciously. “Have you been talking with Bodhi?”

“Of course I have spoken with Bodhi, what, do you expect me to shun him? The man has low enough self-esteem as it is!”

“No, I mean… never mind.”

“If you are referring to a conversation you had with him regarding your age,” Chirrut continues, taking pity on the man, “then the answer is yes, Bodhi spoke to me about it. But the opinion I shared moments ago is my own, not his. You carry more experience within you than most men do in a lifetime. You have more wisdom of the ways of the world and the importance of treating people fairly than most ever do. And you have the air of a man who knows who he is—whether he likes who that is or not—which is not something often found in a young man.” Chirrut pauses, before continuing, “I know who you are, Cassian Andor. I can feel the aches and turmoil that surround you in every moment. A lesser man would crumble beneath their weight, but you continue to stand upright despite their burden and not only that, you move forward through them.”

Cassian tries to stop the man from continuing, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is headed and with just how much Chirrut can see through him. It reminds him of the man’s comment in Gerrera’s prison.

“Do not interrupt,” Chirrut holds up his hand, silencing Cassian’s objections. “I beg you to indulge an old monk his rambles.”

“You are not old,” Cassian grumbles.

The monk smiles but continues nonetheless. “I sense the strangest conflict within you. You both know exactly what you must do and believe whole heartedly in the ideals of the Rebellion, but you punish yourself for some of the actions you do in the name of it. You may recall that I spoke of this on Jedha, when I said there is more than one kind of prison and that some of us carry them with us always. That is your prison. You’ve chosen a difficult path but you have walked it well. I only worry that at some point, your prison will crush you. I advise you to make sure it does not get to that point and I offer you my help should you ever desire it. You do things so that others are spared, there is honor in that, though you do not see it.”

Cassian has no response for that. This man who cannot see has so wholly peered into his soul and examined it, described it, that it leaves Cassian feeling laid bare.

Yet again, the blind man senses more than he should be able to. “I am sorry to cause you discomfort, my friend. My intention was to praise you, not wound you.”

“You didn’t wound me, Chirrut,” Cassian reassures him quietly. “You only said some things I did not want to hear, but that is not necessarily so bad.”

The monk nods. “Now. Enough deep talk. I am on a mission and on a deadline. You are to come with me. Now.”

“What?” Cassian asks in surprise.

“Fear not, little brother,” Chirrut reassures. “I am kidnapping you! Now come, be a good friend and help guide this blind man through the base.”

Cassian remains seated. “You do not need help,” he observes critically.

“No, but not everyone knows that. It’s a good cover story. Now up!” he commands, reaching a strong hand out to clasp Cassian’s arm and pull him to his feet.

Chirrut latches onto his elbow and they slowly begin making their way down the hall—slowly for Cassian’s sake, because every movement still jars his ribs and each step sends shooting pain up his left leg. He clenches his jaw until his teeth feel like they are about to crack. “Where are we going and why are you kidnapping me?” he grinds out.

“We decided it is a gross error on the Alliance’s part to send you in a shuttle so long after ours. We have had enough taste of separation to last us a while, and we need our Captain.”

Cassian huffs at that. “No you don’t. If anything, Jyn is your captain.”

“No,” Chirrut disagrees amicably, “Jyn rallies and inspires us, but you are our Captain. And true, we don’t need our Captain, but we do want our friend.”

They are almost out of the medical wing unobserved, with only one corner to go, when a figure rounds that corner and halts immediately upon seeing them. The figure throws out his arms to his side and shouts in a commanding voice, “stop!”

Cassian and Chirrut halt, thinking they’ve been discovered and are about to be reprimanded. The figure shifts enough to reduce the backlight, and Cassian realizes it’s Vorin. Cassian is about to apologize and explain, when the man turns on his heel to look down the corridor he just came from, the one currently out of Cassian’s sight.

“I just realized,” the man explains to an unseen someone, “that I forgot to check that the medical transports are all set for the patients leaving this afternoon. Would you lot mind accompanying me to speed up the process?”

“But weren’t those checked by engineering this morning?”

“Of course, but a medic should always do his or her own checks, to ensure the safety of the patients.” Vorin glances back at them and winks, before disappearing back the way he came.

Chirrut and Cassian wait a moment, listening to the footsteps fade, before continuing on. They make it the rest of the way without incident and onto the transport where there are two seats saved between Bodhi and Jyn.

Cassian sits gingerly and takes shallow breaths, wrapping his arm around his waist and extending his left leg—the jaunt across the base was not kind to him, but it was worth it to be with his friends… to be with Jyn. “You know we are breaking the orders and the rules,” he states breathlessly.

Jyn grins at him. “Well, we’re rebels, aren’t we?”

*

They arrive on Hoth and it’s as cold as Cassian promised it would be. Jyn doesn’t do cold. She hates it, in fact. She grumbles dramatically about it all the way to their rooms—just like on Yavin 4, they’re all grouped together in one alcove of a quieter wing—which she wouldn’t normally do, but it’s giving Cassian something to smile at and focus on, other than his midsection and leg which must be aching if his pale face and clenched jaw are anything to go by. As the flight had progressed, he’d gotten quieter and quieter, and about halfway there he’d just closed his eyes and stopped talking all together. The ride was fairly easy, but space travel itself is not an entirely smooth process and it was clear that every little bump or shake jarred him painfully. She’d begun to think they’d made a mistake and that medical had had the right idea to transport him two days from now. He’d read her mind, though, in that scary way he does without even being a Jedi, and he’d reached over and clasped her hand. “Thank you,” he’d told her earnestly and firmly, squeezing her hand, before returning his arms to circling his midsection in an attempt to stabilize it.

That had been enough to relieve her of her guilt, but it did not relieve her of her concern for his well-being, so it was with utmost care and patience that she walks arm in arm with him across the base, grumbling and being teased by Bodhi and Baze for her low tolerance of cold temperatures. She takes the teasing good-naturedly, because it’s worth it to see Cassian’s lips quirk up in a smile every so often, deviating from their hard line.

At last they arrive and Jyn leads him into his room, helping him sit down slowly on the bed. She places his box of things (which she’d packed for him) on the floor, still amazed that three years of him living on Yavin 4 had only amounted to a small box.

“Can I get you anything?” she asks, straightening.

He gives her a small grateful smile but shakes his head. “No, no, you have done more than enough. I think I will probably lie down and disappear into sleep for a while.”

At the mention of sleep, she purses her lips, her mind recalling the moment she’d first awakened after the Death Star’s destruction. She stands for a moment in silence, debating whether she wants to continue or not, and she’s grateful that he just sits there watching her, giving her the time she needs to decide. At last she requests hesitantly, “May I sit for a moment?”

“Of course.” He slides over carefully until he’s able to lean back against the wall in order to give her room.

She sits down on the bed, kicking her shoes off and sitting cross legged, facing him. “Cassian,” she starts slowly, trying to decide where to begin before finally settling, “do you remember much from before you first woke up?”

He nods. “Some.”

“Could you… could you tell me what?”

He stares at her for a long moment and it feels like he’s reaching all the way to her soul, before he asks quietly, “I think the better question is, what do you _want_ me to remember?”

She bites her lip. _Damn him and his perceptiveness!_ “I… there was a moment when I was talking to you and you reacted. You squeezed my hand,” she says by way of answer, which isn’t really an answer at all.

“I remember,” he replies slowly, before seeing her struggle to say more and offering, “I don’t know exactly what you were saying, all I can recall is you were distressed and feeling alone and I wanted you to know that you weren’t.”

Tears flood her eyes before she can stop them, because the fact that he never leaves her behind—never leaves her to be desolately lonely—is exactly what she’d been talking to him about, and even though he doesn't remember the conversation, he still doesn’t want her to feel alone. _What did I do to deserve this man?_

His eyes don’t widen at her tears, he doesn’t panic or shy away at her display of emotion, and he doesn’t make her feel lesser, which is one of the very many reasons she’s beginning to fall in love with him. He simply sits with her as she collects herself, his kind, understanding eyes never leaving her face.

“That’s the general idea,” she chokes out hoarsely. “I haven’t had many people in my life whom I could trust. Not since my parents were taken from me when I was nine. I almost trusted Saw, but he always kept me at arms-length, always focused on my training or on taking down the Empire, not on being my friend or father figure. So when he abandoned me, it wasn’t a complete surprise, but that didn’t make it hurt any less,” she admits.

“I’ve never had someone stick around when it all goes to hell. I’ve never had someone to lean on or trust absolutely and completely. My father didn’t abandon me by choice,” she allows, “but he still never made it back to me. There’s never been a single person in my life who has come back for me and not abandoned me… until you.”

She’s baring her heart and soul to this man, totally unsure of what the outcome will be but desperately hoping anyway. If the events of the past many days have shown her anything, it’s that time is never on their side and either one of them could be killed the next day or the next. So while she doesn’t want to rush, she doesn’t want to wait, either. She doesn’t want to just be his friend, because she couldn’t live with that kind of separation between them; she wants to be more. She wants him to understand her like no one does and she wants to give to him what he has already given to her: an anchor, a steadying hand, someone to trust and hold onto.

She looks down at her hands, unable to handle whatever his reaction may be. She hears him draw in breath as if to say something, so she rushes on, because if she doesn’t say this now, she never will. “What I said on Yavin 4 when you were unconscious was that the fact that you've never left me means the world to me. What I’m saying now is…” she pauses. _Now or never, Jyn. Time to take a leap of faith and hope that he’ll catch you one more time._ “What I’m saying now is that I can no longer imagine my world without you. And that terrifies me, _a lot_ , because I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. But what terrifies me the most is that you don’t feel the same.

“When our deaths approached on Scarif, I was sad because I had seen the amazing person you are and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to know you. When our deaths approached on Yavin 4, I was angry because now that I finally knew what I wanted, knew how much you were beginning to mean to me”— _that I was beginning to fall in love with you_ (though she doesn’t say that aloud, she’s not ready for that… yet)—“I wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you. So I’m taking the chance now, hoping beyond hope that you’ll take the chance with me, but if you don’t feel the same way then just say no, and I’ll be gone from your life like I never existed.” _Dear Force, please don’t let him say no._

There’s a beat of silence and stillness—but only a heartbeat—before she hears him shift and his hand comes into her field of vision and cups her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You, Jyn Erso, are the most amazing person I have ever met. I would never in a million years ask you to disappear from my life; I would die a little inside if you did. You’ve reminded me that life is not all about missions and wars, but that it’s about living and surrounding yourself with people who truly care and who make you a better person when you are with them. You, Jyn, make me a better person. You make me _want_ to be a better person.”

His face is so close to hers that she can see the amber rings in his eyes, feel his breath brush her skin. His lips pause a mere inch from hers. “May I?” he murmurs, eyes captivating hers.

“Yes,” she breathes.

Their lips meet in a sweet kiss that conveys their wonder towards one another, their gratitude and the tenderness that each one brings out in the other. It’s gentle and perfect and leaves her breathless when he pulls away, eyes sparkling.

  
  
“But no, I am not going to take a chance with you,” he murmurs.

Her heart stutters and stops, a knife stabbing through it. She tries to pull back from him, hurt flashing across her face, but he doesn’t let her go.

“I’m not going to take a _chance_ with you because I’m not leaving us up to fate. But I would like nothing more than to face all of the chances, challenges and choices in our lives together.”

And her heart soars again as she understands. She reaches forward and embraces him fiercely, until she feels him flinch.

“Sorry!” she gasps, trying to pull back.

“No,” he pulls her closer, returning her hug just as fiercely, “it’s okay. You’re worth it.”

She nestles her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in as he rests his chin on the top of her head. She’d taken her leap of faith and he’d caught her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it doesn't feel like Jyn is rushing things. In my opinion she had a wake up call (more like several) as to her own mortality and how fleeting everything can be and that's why she pounces on this chance now. They'll still take it slowly from here, but I felt like she wouldn't be content to just sit idly by for an extended period of time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, he feels her hands tighten in the back of his jacket. Her breaths grow more and more uneven as she buries her face in the front of his coat. She doesn’t utter a sound other than her heaving breaths, but he feels her wracking, gut wrenching sobs. Her trembling grows to the point where he feels he can no longer support her—he curses his broken ribs and damaged leg for the thousandth time—so he slides down to the floor, leaning against a wall with her cradled in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have some more Cassian and Leia, because I wanted more of that...

Cassian walks purposefully through the narrow, snowy hallways of the base towards the main hangar. He moves slowly and carefully, but progresses steadily, “rushing” to meet Leia, who he knows is on a transport from Yavin 4 which is supposed to land any minute. Rage fuels his march and keeps the freezing air at bay, but it is not directed at her. No, it’s the Empire that has drawn his ire this morning, for a very particular and personal reason—as if he needed any more reason to hate it.

 

After his talk with Jyn, he had fallen asleep despite his heart beating with new found hope and purpose, and had slept peacefully through the night. He still can’t believe she wants to be with him, as he’d long ago given up any hope that someone would be able to see past the cold exterior he’d built and to the warmth within, let alone that anyone would be willing to take him as he is, despite having seen his darker sides. But his cautious happiness at their newfound path had fizzled out and been replaced by anger when he’d been catching up on his intelligence network that morning and had read a short and simple communication that made his heart stop: _Alderaan destroyed. Whole planet gone._

 

He’d sat for he doesn’t even know how long, staring at the transmission as if his gaze could make it disappear. As if he could alter the past and make it not so.

 

He stops on the edge of the hangar, folding his arms and leaning against the frozen wall to relieve the strain on his left leg, too numbed to care about the cold seeping through his jacket and into his skin. The ship enters and lands and the bay doors slowly close behind it. He watches as people depart from the transport, scurrying this way and that, each already with a mission and goal, until at last she emerges. She’s as commanding and fierce as ever as she issues instructions and people leap willingly into action for her, but he’s struck—as he always is—by her youth.

 

No one would guess just how young she is by the way she handles herself, leads the Alliance and stands up fearlessly to the likes of Darth Vader. She has the air and experience of someone twice her age, but in reality she's seven years younger than he is. He smirks a little, remembering Bodhi spluttering his apologies for thinking Cassian was "old," but he knows the man is right. Leia and Cassian are similar in many ways, one of which is that they’re both old souls.

 

He smiles at the memory of when he’d first met her, because at the time he’d firmly believed that they could not have been more different. He’d thought her too young, too innocent and naïve, just a spoiled royal wanting to play at being a rebel for a day. But she had quickly shown him the error of his assumptions, proving that her dedication to the cause matched his own, as did her wit and skill, and they’d found common ground through shared tragedy and the necessity of growing up much too fast. Kay had—like Cassian—been standoffish at first, but even the sarcastic droid had fallen prey to her charm and sincerity. Eventually, Cassian and Leia’s partnership had morphed into a friendship and he grew to love her like a sister.

 

He watches her, unnoticed in the shadows, and sees the telltale signs that she is hurting. His sister is hurting and he hasn’t been there for her. It’s not obvious, in fact he thinks he’s probably one of the only people who would be able to tell. Most people would look for frayed edges—weariness and something in the eyes that screams grief—but they could look for those in Leia until the stars all burn out and never, ever find them. Like him, her edges never fray, because that’s what gets noticed first. And in positions such as theirs, they can’t afford to allow people to see them breaking, see them as anything less than whole and strong. So when she is hurting, she reinforces her edges. She holds her head higher, her shoulders taller and her eyes harder, so no one will ever guess that inside, her heart is fractured and grieving. Just like his.

 

He approaches her, materializing at her shoulder. For a moment, he almost welcomes her to her new home, but in light of the fact that her home had just been obliterated, he doesn't. He settles for “safe trip?” instead.

 

She whirls to face him, a flash of true happiness crossing her face as she sees him upright and mobile. “Cassian!” she exclaims warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to see you!”

 

His heart aches at that, realizing that the number of people she trusts implicitly and opens up to has been decimated. For as long as he can remember, he has only ever had three people—or less—that he trusted that way (though now the number is growing as Jyn elbows her way into his life, Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze not far behind), but Leia had always had more. Now, he thinks she probably only has one. “I think I have an idea,” he replies honestly. She searches his face for a moment, but he doesn’t give her the chance to see more before requesting, “Can we talk?”

 

She nods immediately, recognizing the seriousness and urgency of his tone.

 

He leads her to a small control room off of the hangar—doing his best to conceal his limp, thinking, _the last thing she needs is one more thing to worry about!_ —and opens the door. “Out,” he orders the man on duty, his tone booking no room for argument. The technician scrambles to comply.

 

Once they’re alone, he turns to Leia and draws her into a fierce embrace, his arms completely enveloping her small frame.

 

She stiffens in momentary surprise, before gradually wrapping her arms around him in return. “Cassian?” she queries worriedly, voice muffled by his jacket. “What’s wrong?”

 

But he just holds her tighter. They’ve never had trouble communicating without words and what can he say to make it better? The answer is nothing. “I’m sorry” just doesn’t seem to cut it.

 

Eventually, he feels her hands tighten in the back of his jacket. Her breaths grow more and more uneven as she buries her face in the front of his coat. She doesn’t utter a sound other than her heaving breaths, but he feels her wracking, gut wrenching sobs. Her trembling grows to the point where he feels he can no longer support her—he curses his broken ribs and damaged leg for the thousandth time—so he slides down to the floor, leaning against a wall with her cradled in his arms.

 

 _Has she had the chance before now to give in to grief?_ He thinks probably no; she’s been too busy leading the Rebellion’s evacuation and ensuring the safety of everyone else. And he knows for certain that she hasn’t let anyone comfort her because, except for him, all of the people she would have felt comfortable being vulnerable in front of and leaning on for support, died with her planet. She’s been so strong for so long and he hates that she’s done it on her own.

 

As her breathing gradually quiets, he finally murmurs, “For the love of the Force, Leia, why didn’t you tell me?”

 

 “Because not talking about it meant I could pretend it wasn’t real,” she sobs, her response so muffled that he can barely hear it.

 

He sighs, knowing that feeling all too well. But it’s a dangerous game, throwing things into the shadows. It’s a dance with the devil that he is intimately familiar with, and even when he wins, he still loses a small part of himself. There’s no winning when you look the devil in the eye, no matter the game. He holds her tighter, lending her what strength he has and communicating without words that he will always be there for her. No matter what.

 

*

 

The next few days pass in a blur for Jyn as the base settles and all personnel make the transition. Jyn continues her routine of moving her mattress every night to sleep on Bodhi’s floor—and no, Cassian doesn’t find it weird or ask her about it, which just makes her love him even more—even though Bodhi keeps reassuring her she doesn’t need to anymore. She can tell he’s only saying that for her benefit though, so she ignores him for his own sake.

 

She also continues to grumble about the cold—because the base is _cold_ dammit!—until her friends start commenting suggestively that they can think of a few ways she could warm up, and she flushes scarlet before shutting up. No, she and Cassian haven’t told anyone out right—not because they’re keeping it a secret, but because it just doesn’t seem like it’s worth telling—but certainly it’s pretty obvious to her friends.

 

She and Cassian are spending more and more time together as she tries to piece together the puzzle of what makes Cassian, _Cassian,_ and she finds herself sharing quite a lot with him—everything from her childhood dreams to moments she was terrified during her time with Saw—both because she wants him to truly know who she is, and because she hopes that he will return the favor. He's a little more cautious and closed off than she is—probably because he worries (needlessly) that he'll scare her off if he shares too much—but her own openness is making a difference as she finds him relaxing more and more with her. One thing she hasn't shared with him yet, however, is her project to bring K2 back, because she doesn’t want to get his hopes up and with each passing day, it looks more and more hopeless.

 

That’s where she is currently, tossing wiring and metal bits against a wall and swearing up a storm when Leia walks in and finds her.

 

The younger woman raises an eyebrow, to which Jyn replies, “I hate the Empire.”

 

Leia’s other eyebrow rises to join her first. “Yes, I believe we all do. I wasn’t aware that that was in question, but what seems to be their latest transgression?”

 

“Imperial circuitry is unnecessarily difficult and complicated,” she states morosely, staring at the disc in her hands.

 

The Princess draws in a sharp breath when she notices it. “Is that—”

 

“Yes,” Jyn replies before she can finish. “It’s K2’s backup. I found it back on Yavin 4 and I thought maybe, maybe I could finally give back to Cassian, because he’s given me so much—though I’m not just doing it for him, I’m doing it for me, too—only now it’s hopeless because I’ve tried just about everything I can think of and it boils down to the fact that none of our equipment can handle it. I would need an Imperial droid.”

 

The woman is silent for a moment, before she says, “Don’t give up hope just yet. I’m sure we’ll think of something. In the meantime, how are you doing, Jyn?”

 

“Me?” she asks in surprise. “I’m fine. Totally healed and ready for action again.”

 

“And Cassian?” the Princess asks slyly, eyeing the other woman out of the corner of her eye.

 

“He’s doing better,” Jyn replies, purposefully obtuse and not understanding the woman’s hidden meaning.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Leia says earnestly, before pausing and giving her a long look. “Usually the role of protector goes to a family member, but Cassian doesn’t have any family left so it falls to me.” Jyn’s confused as to what the other woman is referring to, until Leia continues, “Jyn, I feel it’s my responsibility to inform you that should you hurt Cassian, I will personally see to it that you disappear from the face of the galaxy, your existence wiped out as easily as a smear is removed from a windshield,” the woman threatens seriously, pinning Jyn with a hard stare. It’s all Jyn can do not to shrink from her gaze. “Cassian is incredibly important to me—he’s like my brother—and despite how much I like you and think we can be friends, I will stop at nothing to end you if you cause him to spiral back into his closed off cage.”

 

Silence falls for a moment as Jyn tries to work up the courage to reply. “Duly noted,” she finally acknowledges. “I promise I will try my best, and I would very much like to become friends with you, if that offer is on the table.”

 

The Princess’ face breaks into a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I know you already respect him and wouldn’t dream of hurting him, but I just had to threaten you myself. I’ve got to get my enjoyment somewhere,” she admits, her contagious grin causing Jyn to smile in return. “I actually came to find you,” she continues, “not because I planned to warn you—I just couldn’t pass up the golden opportunity—but because he’s looking for you. Should I tell him I found you or that I was unable to locate you?”

 

The smile disappears from Jyn’s face. “I’m not here.”

 

Leia stares at her for a while and seems about to say something, before she finally only smiles sadly. “I’ll leave you to it,” she murmurs, then walks away.

 

Jyn spends the rest of the afternoon avoiding everyone, too disheartened by her failure. But it’s not the failure that’s bothering her—she’s used to personal failure—it’s the fact that she’s never failed someone _else_ before, because she’s never had someone she cared about failing. But the Force knows she cares now. Her disheartened mood leads her thoughts to places she’s managed to avoid since Scarif, but now that her defenses are lowered, all of her fears and doubts come creeping forward. Her mind conjures endless possibilities as to alternate ways Scarif could have gone and, even though she knows they made it safely, the thoughts threaten to drown her. And then doubt creeps in that maybe Cassian is just humoring her, that he doesn’t truly reciprocate her feelings, which she knows is ridiculous and insecure, but she can’t help it.

 

With all of these dark thoughts swirling around her, she can’t muster a façade of up-beatness and doesn’t want Cassian—or anyone else—asking questions she doesn’t want to answer. She manages to go the whole day without seeing anyone who knows her better than a friendly wave as they pass in the hall, until she returns to her room and finds Cassian lying in ambush for her. Or, well, perhaps “in ambush” isn’t the right phrase, but he’s sitting on the floor leaning against the wall next to her door, right leg bent with his arm resting across it and left leg extended. As she rounds the corner and spots him, his eyes find hers and _see_ her.

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he observes, eyes dark and unreadable in this light.

 

“What? I’ve been doing no such thing!” she tries to deny. “I’m allowed not to spend every waking moment with you. Don’t expect me to become your swooning admirer who dotes on your every move!” she exclaims, crossing her arms and using anger and attack to attempt to divert his attention.

 

His eyes narrow. “Of course I don’t expect that,” he replies evenly from his spot on the floor. “I would _never_ want that, and if you think I do, then I don’t want to know what kind of man you think I am…”

 

She bites her lip to stop herself from shouting that of _course_ she doesn’t think he’s that kind of man, and she’s slapping herself for hurting him—especially having promised Leia just hours earlier that she would never do that—but then, of course, because he’s Cassian, he sees right through her.

 

“… but I don’t think that’s what’s going on. If you don’t want to share, I will respect that; I’m not going to take more than you’re willing to give, Jyn,” he promises earnestly, “but don't push me away. And don't even bother trying to hurt me enough to make me _want_ to walk away from you, because that's a fools errand. Nothing can make me turn away from you. Whatever you’re going through, I’m here for _you,_ if you want me. I'm not here for myself.”

 

His honesty and compassion softens something inside her and she quietly confesses, “I wanted to give you something”— _someone_ , her heart whispers—“back, but I failed.”

 

He frowns. “You don’t need to give me anything, Jyn. You don’t have to bribe me, I’m with you for who you are.”

 

“I know, but I wanted to,” she replies honestly.

 

He’s silent for a long moment before he half-smiles. “Okay, if you really want to give me something?”

 

She nods eagerly.

 

“Then you can give me a hand up. I’m a little stuck and it’s rather cold down here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of the support and for sharing your thoughts! It's amazing to hear from all of you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, figuring the droid has finally run out of things to rant about, until Kay calls uncertainly, “Cassian?”  
> “Hmm?” he hums.  
> “Are you bleeding from somewhere other than your face? Has the blaster wound opened up again? Your vital signs have decreased dramatically.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably being overly cautious, but I just wanted to issue a little warning that there is some violence in this chapter. Not really anything worse than cannon violence, but it's there. If you want to avoid it, then skip from the point where Cassian hisses "GO!" at someone, to the point where it says "the entire fight took less than..."

Silence permeates the hallway outside of their rooms in the hours just past midnight, broken only by Cassian’s soft footsteps as he paces back and forth. A nightmare had awakened him and he’d been unable to fall back asleep because of his sore ribs and active mind.

 

Nothing good ever comes of nightmares. He’s been plagued by them for long enough that they no longer cause him to spiral into dark places, but it always takes him a little while to shake off their lingering shadows. Ideally, it’s best to be awakened from them before their completion—before the body jolts awake in a panic—but only by someone you trust, because when waking from a nightmare one is always incredibly vulnerable in the first few moments. For Cassian, the person who always woke him was Kay. The droid was not the soft and cuddly type capable of comforting him, but Kay’s sarcastic and blunt approach always worked for Cassian.

 

This time, though, Kay hadn’t been there to wake him before the nightmare finished. The pain of his friend’s loss still cuts deeply into his heart and he wonders if it will ever lessen—given his past experience with loss, he knows it never will. Sighing, he loses himself in the memory of the first time Kay had saved him from a nightmare, on one of their first missions together, over seven years ago.

 

*****

 

He hasn’t slept in over thirty-three hours, not since before they’d landed on this moon and things had immediately gone to hell. The intel he’d had was bad—which happens more often than he likes, which is why he always tries to go on the missions himself instead of sending someone else—and instead of the moon being a mostly deserted city with an abandoned Imperial base, it was a highly active city with a heavy Imperial presence. Which is good to know now, but would have been nice to know before they’d landed and were immediately boarded by Imperial officers. He thanks the Force that he always makes sure to have documents and a cover story, because even on low level missions of minimal danger—which is what this was _supposed_ to be—he might need it. Turns out this time, his thoroughness had absolutely saved their lives. It had given them enough time to get out of the ship and disappear into the city with only a blaster burn on Cassian’s back. And it would have gotten them completely safely into the city if Kay hadn’t let slip his disdainful opinion of the Empire and how easily they were fooled, within hearing of an Imperial soldier.

 

Of course, once they’d disappeared into the crowd and found a relatively safe place to hunker down, the question had immediately arisen: how to get off the moon? Their mission was shot, there was no way they’d be able to accomplish it, as they had come to pick up a supply of bacta left behind in a _deserted_ imperial base. As the base was most certainly _not_ deserted and Cassian had not come prepared to infiltrate, there was no way it would work. After their initial escape, it had frustrated him to no end that they had already failed, because in a Rebellion against the Empire, bacta was a crucial resource. The irony of which was not lost on him, given that his shoulder could have used some. It had still been bleeding sluggishly on and off, and not for the first time a small part of him wished that blaster shots were hot enough to cauterize... but only a small part.

 

After they’d hunkered down in the second story of an abandoned house and Kay had put a makeshift bandage on Cassian’s shoulder, there had been nothing to do but sit and wait for things to cool off. Which is what they are doing now, eight hours later. Finally determining that the Empire had given up looking for them, Cassian tells the droid to stay put while he finds a way off this rock. For once, the droid doesn’t protest… maybe it’s because Kay feels guilty for getting Cassian shot… it’s food for thought that he tucks away for later.

 

Cassian dons a cloak and one of his least favorite, more sordid identities and goes searching for the underground market he knows has to be present given the Empire’s presence. It doesn’t take him long to find—he’s in Intelligence after all, it’s his specialty. Once he does, he brings out his oozing, sleazy charm and total immorality and talks his way into captaining and delivering a ship of smuggled cargo. It sometimes surprises him how easily he's able to make people disregard his youth—he's just nineteen—but he's thankful of his ability to pull on a mask so ruthless that no one thinks twice. He finds out the cargo is a shipment of unwilling slaves and skillfully conceals his surprise with a sneer. _Well, it will kill two birds with one stone,_ he thinks. _We'll get a way off this moon and we'll get to save some innocent lives in the process._ It makes sinking into the skin of a crooked scumbag worth it. He's glad the whole mission isn't a complete loss.

 

On his way back to Kay in the middle of the night, he picks up a tail, though fortunately it’s not Imperial. He immediately attempts to lose it and, after an hour of twisting his way through the city all the while ensuring he never loses his way, he finally succeeds. He’s only a mile from Kay when a disturbance catches his attention: five men surround a boy in an alleyway to his right, their dishonorable, disgusting intentions clear; he no longer has to wonder how the slaves he's supposed to ship were acquired, there's a kidnapping taking place right in front of his eyes. Cassian stops. Every self-preservation instinct in him screams “KEEP WALKING! That’s not your problem!” While every protective, moral instinct in him snarls. He knows he should keep going, because if he stops now the odds are high that 1) he’ll get beat up, 2) it will draw the attention of the Imperial patrols and 3) it will mean he and Kay never make it out of here. He’s sure Kay could tell him the precise odds of each scenario, but he doesn’t really want to know. Steeling himself, he turns and strides down the alley, keeping to the shadows and giving into his protective instincts; he's never been terribly good at self-preservation. And he needs to shake off the feeling of corruption and immorality that came from the identity he’d assumed. Needs to remind himself that’s not who he is.

 

The boy’s the only one who sees him coming and even the child doesn’t notice him until he steps from the shadows and swings a metal pipe at one of the men’s heads. He sees the boy's eyes flare with fear at first first, thinking he’s joining the men, then shine with the smallest glimmer of hope when the kid realizes he’s not. It’s enough to make whatever happens worth it. The man he strikes with the pipe crumples to the ground—dead or unconscious, Cassian’s not really sure and he doesn’t really care. The noise and sudden loss of their companion causes the other four to wheel around. He takes a second man out the same way he did the first before they realize what’s happening. With two men down, that clears the way for the boy to escape.

 

“Go!” he hisses at the kid, who needs no second urging. He’s gone.  

 

The remaining three men leap back out of his range, and Cassian prays to the Force that they don’t have blasters. So of course, they have blasters. Though he also has a blaster with him—because he never doesn’t—he very much wants to avoid them using one and also to avoid using one himself. Not because he has any qualms about killing them—given what they were about to do—but because blasters are _loud_ , louder than a pipe hitting flesh, and he really doesn’t want to bring Imperial patrols this way. Facing long range weapons with his own short range one, he pursues the only course of action that has any change of succeeding: he charges, before they have a chance to fully draw their weapons.

 

He strikes one in the knee then the hand, sending him to the ground and disarming him, his blaster skittering into the shadows of the alley. The man starts to cry out in pain, but Cassian finishes him with a blow across the jaw that snaps his head back and crumples him.

 

That just leaves two, which are better odds than what Cassian started with, so he’ll take them. Plus, only one of the men has drawn a weapon—the other doesn’t appear to have one. The first raises his arm to aim, but he’s too slow and Cassian’s only two feet away. He closes the remaining distance, grabbing the gun and jamming his finger behind the trigger mechanism. The man squeezes and the trigger clamps down on Cassian’s finger, causing him to hiss with pain, but the gun doesn’t fire. Cassian drops the pipe—they’re too close quarters for it to be useful now—and grabs the man’s whole arm instead, pulling him closer as he brings his knee up to strike the man in the stomach. The man doubles over as Cassian twists the gun around the man’s finger, causing an audible snap as the bones in his hand break. If he’d had breath to yell, the man would have screamed.

 

His confrontation with this man, however, has given the last man time to advance. Cassian feels someone approach behind him and dodges just enough that the blade the man had tried to jab him with only deals a slicing blow, not a deadly stab.

 

Cassian lashes out with his leg, giving him a moment’s breathing room as the last man leaps back to avoid being permanently crippled by a blow to his knee. The man Cassian’s holding punches him feebly in the ribs, but he responds by slamming the man’s head against the wall and finally directing his full attention to the last man, who flings himself at Cassian, blade glinting. Cassian’s able to dodge fully this time, avoiding the knife and grabbing the man’s arm, using his momentum to spin him around and onto the ground, all the while maintaining his grip on the knife hand and twisting until the man drops it. Cassian kicks the blade away, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the man’s sideways sweeping legs that knock Cassian off his feet, his head smacking painfully against the ground. He lies dazed for a moment, gathering his bearings but then the man is suddenly on top of him, punching him repeatedly in the face.

 

One of Cassian’s arms is pinned, but his other is not. He sacrifices guarding his face for a moment in order to reach into his boot and withdraw the dagger he keeps there beside his lock picks. The knife slips silently between his assailant’s ribs and the blows stop. The man stares stupidly down at the blade protruding from his body, before looking back at Cassian.

  
Cassian shoves the man off of him and onto his back, reversing their positions, then withdraws the knife, causing the man to gasp, blood already seeping from his mouth.

 

“Who are you?” he gurgles in a lost voice, as if confused how anyone would risk their lives to help an innocent on this hell hole of a moon.

 

“A better man than you,” Cassian replies simply, before closing his eyes and slitting the man’s throat in a mercy kill. He takes no pleasure in it. None whatsoever.

 

The entire fight took less than three minutes, but by the end, Cassian’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. He heaves himself to his feet and stumbles the rest of the way to Kay.

 

Slamming the door to their hideout open, he drags himself wearily up the stairs and through the entrance.

 

“Cassian! You’re back!” the droid greets him, with something that almost sounds like enthusiasm in his mechanical voice—but Cassian’s head is spinning so maybe he imagined it. “The odds of your return were quite low, I’ll have you know, so I’ve been devising alternate ways in which I could escape and have thus far come up empty. What took you so long? And were you successful in—” Cassian flicks on the light in order to make his way into the dark room “—obtaining transportation for us and why are you bleeding?!” the droid demands upon seeing Cassian’s face.

 

“I ran into some of the less honorable inhabitants of this moon,” he explains, easing himself down onto the floor, his feet no longer able to support him.

 

“Cassian, the entirety of this moon’s population are of the ‘less honorable’ sort and you were specifically trying to seek them out,” the droid points out. “Did you think they would give you a hug and a pat on the head?”

 

Cassian snorts. “No, I didn’t. It was an unplanned encounter after I obtained transportation. We’ve been hired to smuggle slaves out late tomorrow—or, I guess, late tonight,” he amends, as it's past three in the morning.

 

He slumps against a wall and leans his head against it. Closing his eyes as he tries to relax, he's surprised by the amount of wetness he feels on his back. _Huh, that blade must have gotten me more than I thought,_ he muses, listening to Kay drone on about all of the dishonest and illegal activities that likely occur on this moon daily. A little while later, it takes him a moment to realize Kay has suddenly fallen silent. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, though, just figuring the droid has finally run out of things to rant about, until Kay calls uncertainly, “Cassian?”

 

“Hmm?” he hums.

 

“Are you bleeding from somewhere other than your face? Has the blaster wound opened up again? Your vital signs have decreased dramatically.”

 

“Mmm, the blaster wound is fine,” he reassures.

 

“That’s strange. I’ll have to get my diagnostic capabilities checked when we return to the Alliance because I could swear—”

 

“I think it’s the cut from the knife that’s the problem,” he mutters, before falling into the embrace of unconsciousness.

 

*

 

_He watches the life bleed from her eyes as she stares at him with indescribable love, clutching his small hand in her cooling one._

_“I love you my Cassie. I love you,” she whispers._

_And she’s gone. Hands lift him, pulling his screaming form away and thrusting him into the cold reality of a world without her. Flames erupt around him, roaring as they close to engulf his grief stricken form. He can feel their heat as they approach, almost upon him, and—_

*

 

Something sharp pokes him in the side, jolting him from his nightmare. He groans, swiping it away, but it’s persistent. It pokes him again. And again. Then it pokes his face and he can no longer ignore it. His eyes fly open, greeted by two incandescent blue orbs hovering over him.

 

“Cassian,” Kay greets, “it is time for a check-up. I’m not sure if you have a concussion but there’s a sixty-six percent probability given your head trauma and my medical files inform me a concussed person should be awakened every few hours.”

 

He sighs.

 

There’s a pause before the droid adds, “Additionally, I was detecting elevated stress levels consistent with unpleasant dreams and thought it might be good to awaken you.”

 

And that’s how Cassian knows Kay cares. A smile slips onto the man’s face. “Thanks, Kay.”

 

“And, since you seem to be feeling rather charitable and probably won’t remember this the next time you wake up, I want to say that I’m sorry I got you shot.”

 

Much to Kay’s dismay, Cassian _does_ remember the following morning. And he never lets the droid live it down.

 

*****

 

Cassian’s heart aches as he paces the halls of the Hoth base, the memory of the turning point in his and Kay’s partnership fresh in his mind. That mission had catapulted their partnership onto a course for friendship, and their friendship had grown quickly after that—though Kay was always quick to deny it, saying droids are incapable of forming friendships… the big liar. Cassian misses the droid more than he can express. Misses his unfailing pessimism, his quick wit and his way of always speaking whatever comes into his circuits.

 

When Cassian had reprogrammed the Imperial droid, he’d never in his wildest imaginations thought that the droid would become an irreplaceable part of his life. At the time, his motivations had been purely selfish and non-emotional: he’d needed backup and none was coming from the Alliance. It had been a desperate gamble. An “if this doesn’t work I’m going to die anyway” sort of situation. When it had worked, no one had been more surprised than Cassian himself. He’d made it back to the Alliance thanks to Kay and then he’d handed the droid off to the engineering department, thinking that would be the last he’d see of him. He’d assumed they’d assign the droid to someone else; Cassian always worked alone.

 

But it turned out that no one was comfortable working with a former Imperial droid. Who would have guessed? So the only one willing to go on missions with Kay was Cassian himself. And thus their partnership had begun. Cassian admits in the early days that there were moments where he thought maybe Kay’s reprogramming wouldn’t stick and the droid would turn on him, but after a while, those fears turned into distant memories.

 

Kay had been loyal to a fault. There were some that would say that was just how he’d been reprogrammed, but Cassian knew better: Kay’s loyalty had been incredibly selective. In the early days, there were several times where Kay deliberately left him hanging one way or another, until Cassian outright saved the droid’s life on a mission. Things had changed after that. So no, Cassian did not believe it was just how Kay had been programmed.

 

He stops pacing for a few moments, paused outside of Jyn’s door. He misses Kay. He honestly and truly misses him. Due to Kay’s insistence, Cassian had had a backup and had clung to that hope when he heard his friend die, but that had been crushed when he arrived here at Echo Base and all of his other things had made the transit and that had not. With its disappearance, his hopes of reviving his friend had died.

 

He takes a step forward to resume his pacing, needing to build his stamina back up after so many days of stillness, when a noise catches his ear from behind Jyn’s door: it’s a sob. He hesitates a moment, not sure if she would want him to intrude on her grief, until he hears more sounds of distress and understands she’s having a nightmare. When her sob gets louder, he makes his decision. He opens her door and slips quietly inside, seeing her tossing and turning on the bed.

 

“No, no, no, no,” she cries, “please no!”

 

He rushes to her side and sits on the edge of the bed. “Jyn!” he hisses, gently shaking her shoulder. “Jyn! Wake up!”

 

She comes awake in a mass of flailing limbs and—while he should have expected her defensiveness—it surprises him. Sensing a foreign presence above her, she strikes out with the heel of her palm, whacking him in his sternum before he can block it. The breath leaves his lungs forcefully from the hit, healing ribs screaming in protest, but he doesn’t back away. Instead, he moves inside her flailing arms, gasping for breath as her fists pound against his side, until he’s able to grasp her face in both of his hands. “Jyn!” he says softly. “It’s me, Jyn. It’s Cassian. You’re all right, you’re safe.”

 

The pounding slowly stops as her eyes focus on him, her breathing heavy. “Cassian,” she sobs, “Cassian you’re dead. They’re all dead and we failed.”

 

“No, Jyn,” he counters, pulling her against him and tucking her head beneath his chin, “no it was just a nightmare. I’m here, I’m alive and we did _not_ fail.”

 

She cries into his chest, clutching the back of his shirt in her hands. “It was so real,” she whispers brokenly. “They’re always so real… Have they found you, yet?”

 

“What, the nightmares?” he asks, feeling her nod against his shoulder. “Yes, they’ve found me, but more accurately, they’ve never left me alone.”

 

She pulls back at that and he lets her, not wanting to make her feel trapped. “How do you stand them? How do you keep them from driving you insane?” she demands shakily.

 

He draws in a breath, thinking about his answer before replying, “Well, when I wake up, I start reminding myself of everything good in my life, which for a long time was a very short list. But,” he continues gently, “since I met you, the list has gotten longer,” he confesses, hand reaching out to wipe the tears from her face. “And then I hold onto all of the good as the nightmares fade.”

 

“And that works?” she asks in disbelief.

 

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” he admits, dropping his hand from her face to clutch one of hers. “But it never hurts to try.”

 

“Thank you,” she breathes, tears still slipping down her face, “for waking me. Would you, would you…” she can’t finish.

 

“Would you like me to stay?” he finishes for her, sparing her the pride of asking.

 

She nods slowly.

 

“Then of course.” He starts to move from the bed to the floor, but she reaches out to stop him.

 

“You don’t have to stay on the floor. It can’t be comfortable and I know it can’t be good for you.” She scoots sideways, turning to face the wall and lying on her side, leaving a narrow part of the bed empty. “There’s not _much_ room, but it will be better than the floor.”

 

He waits for several moments, giving her plenty of time to retract her offer, before slowly stretching out on the narrow bed beside her. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” she says with conviction. “I know I’ll be safe if I have you at my back.”

 

Her words touch him in their honesty.

 

“Okay, but if you push me off of the bed, I promise you retribution,” he teases, trying to chase away the last dregs of her nightmare.

 

Her quiet chuckle and “give it your best shot, Rebel scum,” lets him know he’s succeeded. He doubts he’ll get much sleep, but that’s not the point. He’ll be her guardian for tonight. Even though he can’t fight the specters that haunt her, he won’t leave her now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really love Kay and Cassian's friendship (droids totally have feelings!) and I needed to write about it because it's taking too long to bring Kay back in my story (which is my own fault... but shhhh).  
> I'm tempted to write a prequel exploring Cassian and Kay's first meeting... any interest in that?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Apparently,” Chirrut replies nonchalantly, “the Princess has issued a classified alert to all pilots running missions—an alert kept secret from all high ranking officials—that, should the opportunity arise to obtain an Imperial droid during low level missions without jeopardizing the lives of the crew members, it would be greatly appreciated if they obtained the droid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance that this chapter is a tiny bit of a filler before we get to the next chapter where a whole lot of action happens. But this chapter has a little fluff! Fluff is hard... I need to do more fluff. Hope you're all still enjoying! Hard to believe there are only two chapters left after this one! I am already working on a prequel of Cassian and K2's first meeting and have plans for a sequel. Happy reading!

Jyn wakes on her side, facing the wall, and for the first time she can remember, she feels totally at peace. She knows exactly where she is, exactly who she’s with and she couldn’t be happier. No more nightmares visited her after Cassian woke her; he’d acted as her dreamcatcher. Her tall, dark, and handsome dreamcatcher, who currently has his arms around her. Just over a week ago, she probably would have panicked and freaked out, but now she relaxes into his warm embrace. She feels his breath slowly stir the hair by her ear and knows that he’s still asleep.

 

She carefully turns her head to look up at him, hoping she won’t awaken him but wanting to see his face. He looks so much younger asleep, without the weight of the world or constant worry lining his face. She traces the curve of his mouth with her eyes, watches him breathe slowly in and out, and realizes he is the good in her life, now. Last night, when he’d told her what he does to chase away the nightmares, she’d tried it. She’d thought of their success against the Empire and her growing friendship with Chirrut, Baze and Bodhi, but she’d always come back to Cassian. He is the good in her life and she is going to hold on to him for as long as she can.

 

His breathing gets shallower and she knows she’s about to be caught staring at him, but she doesn’t care. She wants him to see in her eyes what he means to her.

 

“Hey,” she whispers as his eyelids flutter open.

 

“Hey,” he returns, voice still heavy with sleep.

 

“How is my knight in grungy clothes this morning?”

 

He smiles, closing his eyes again. “He’s holding the woman who inexplicably did not run away from him screaming when she saw who he is and what he’s done, and he couldn’t be happier.”

 

She grins at him. “There’s nothing to run away from, Cassian. I’m still trying to figure out how I managed to ensnare you.”

 

He hums. “Then we are both of us at a loss and perhaps that is not a bad thing because neither of us takes the other for granted.”

 

“Never,” she whispers vehemently. “I will never take you for granted.”

 

He’s silent.

 

“Cassian?”

 

Still silent.

 

“Cassian! Did you fall asleep again?”

 

He huffs in indignation, eyes still closed. “Of course not. An Intelligence Captain would never fall asleep in the middle of a deep and meaningful conversation.”

 

He totally had. But she lets it go. “Well, oh great Captain, do you think it’s perhaps time to start the day? I have sparring practice with Chirrut and Baze in,” she glances at the wall readout, “twenty minutes.”

 

He sighs, grumbling as he finally opens his eyes, capturing her gaze for a moment, before carefully unwrapping his arms from around her and stretching to rise from the bed. His hair is tousled and he’s never been more beautiful to her, but she eyes him worriedly, noticing that he moves much more slowly and stiffly today, holding his midsection in a way that seems to indicate pain. _Was sleeping in a cramped bed really so detrimental to his health?_ she wonders guiltily, before her mind flashes back to the moment when she first awoke but had still been in the throes of her nightmare. Someone had been attacking her in her dream and she’d fought back, but then that someone had turned into Cassian… she connects the dots immediately: she’d been hitting Cassian when he’d been trying to wake her. More guilt rises within her and she opens her mouth to apologize, but he speaks before she has the chance.

 

 “Okay, okay,” he sighs good-naturedly, slowly straightening. “I will leave you to prepare for sparring. I have an entire intelligence network to maintain anyway. Alas my work is never done.” He leans down to kiss her on the forehead before limping towards her door. “Try not to let them take you down too hard,” he winks at her, before slipping away.

 

She shouts in offence as he departs, his laughter trailing behind him.

 

*

 

On her way to sparring, she muses over the fact that Bodhi had assured her last night that he would be fine without her, had told her he needed to see how it went on is own, and then it had been her that ended up needing someone. She’d run into Bodhi in the hallway just minutes before and he’d proudly informed her that he’d been nightmare free, thanking her again. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him that _she_ had not been nightmare free. Besides, she needn’t burden him with that when she has Cassian.

 

She enters the room Chirrut and Baze had found, breath misting in the air. The base is heated, but it’s cold enough that there are some rooms the heat does not reach very well. This is one of them, which is why it’s not being used for another purpose and they can use it to spar.

 

“Good morning, little sister,” Baze rumbles in greeting.

 

She smiles widely at him. “Good morning, Baze.”

  
  
“I trust the nightmares were more manageable last night?” Chirrut inquires innocently.

 

She looks at him sharply, unable to tell if he knows or not. Knowing him, he probably does. “They were, thank you,” she replies curtly. “Now I’m freezing, so let’s get started.”

 

Thirty minutes in and her muscles finally loosen and shake away the last of the knots. They take turns sparring one-on-one with staffs, so right now she and Baze are sparring. They’re by no means an even match, which humbles her. Baze is by far her superior, having had many more years to hone his skill, but he graciously fights at her level. Her speed helps, but she still knows she’ll never win the fight.

 

“Jyn,” Chirrut calls from the sidelines, “do I hear correctly that you are trying to build a droid that will accept the files of the sarcastic droid with us on Jedha, Eadu and Scarif?”

 

Her concentration falters, allowing Baze to deal a blow to her side. She yelps. “Don’t distract me!”

 

“Don’t allow yourself to be distracted,” Baze counters amicably.

 

She lashes out at him, forcing him to step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chirrut. You’re hearing things.”

 

“Ah, the old ‘he can’t see so his other senses must be bad, too,' excuse. Let me rephrase the question: I hear you are having difficulty building a droid that will accept the files and I sense this is perhaps why you were in such a tumultuous state yesterday.”

 

“Tumultuous!” she cries. “I’ll show you tumultuous!” and she turns towards the blind man, intending to rap him on the head—gently—but Baze is suddenly in front of her, blocking the blow.

 

The smug monk doesn’t even flinch at the staffs that clash inches from his face. “Good luck with that,” he offers her.

 

She growls, trying again, but Baze blocks her again just as effortlessly.

 

“Don’t let the old fool get under your skin,” the tall guardian counsels her, countering her strike to his ribs and aiming one at her head. She drops to the floor in a roll in order to dodge the blow, coming up to her knees and finally managing to sweep his feet out from under him. He lands on his back but before she has a chance to push her advantage, he twists out of her range and returns to his feet. “Nicely done,” he praises.

 

“I do not bring up the topic with the intention of sending you back to that state of turmoil,” Chirrut continues conversationally, as if no fight is occurring just a few feet away from him, “as you arrived this morning in a state of happiness that I have not seen in you before today,” he smiles slyly. “I mention it because I believe I have good news.”

 

She opens her mouth to say “oh?” but just as she does, Baze lands a hit to her stomach which pushes all of the air from her lungs and it comes out as an “Oof?” Baze smiles, stepping back to give her a moment’s reprieve. “What news?” she gasps, stepping forward to engage the guardian again.

 

“Apparently,” Chirrut replies nonchalantly, “the Princess has issued a classified alert to all pilots running missions—an alert kept secret from all high ranking officials—that, should the opportunity arise to obtain an Imperial droid during low level missions without jeopardizing the lives of the crew members, it would be greatly appreciated if they obtained the droid.”

 

“What?” Jyn exclaims, completely losing concentration and dropping her guard, which Baze promptly takes advantage of, sweeping his staff under her feet and knocking her to the ground. The man then drops his staff and joins her lying down on the floor.

 

“I’m getting too old for this,” he groans, catching his breath.

 

“Nonsense,” Chirrut disagrees, “you are merely using it as an excuse to complain.”

 

“I’m sorry, hang on, back up,” Jyn interrupts their bickering. “What do you mean she’s issued an alert? And if only the pilots running the missions know, then how do _you_ know?”

 

“I overheard two pilots talking about it.”

 

“You overheard two pilots talking about a top secret order?”

 

He grins maliciously. “People talk about all sorts of things in my hearing. You would be amazed at what you hear when you’re blind because people think blind means deaf, too.”

 

“An illusion you do nothing to dispel,” Baze rumbles fondly.

 

“You wound me, my friend!” Chirrut cries, placing his hand over his heart.

 

“You’ll live,” the former guardian replies bluntly.

 

Jyn doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. Hope furiously? Appreciate Leia’s efforts? “Well it’s a nice gesture, but I doubt it’ll amount to much.”

 

“Oh I think you might be surprised,” Baze disagrees. “The Princess didn’t say what the droid is for, but everyone knows there’s only one reason she’d be looking for one: for the Captain. Apparently he’s run innumerable missions, many of which directly saved the lives of people here, and they feel grateful and indebted to him. You’d be surprised at how many want to give something back to him for all that he’s done. You’d be even more surprised at how many people want to give something back to you, too.”

 

“And to us!” Chirrut interjects. “We are not the forgotten sidekicks.”

 

Baze smiles at him. “That we aren’t, my friend.”

 

*

 

At lunch while she stands in line, she feels arms encircle her from behind and Cassian presses a kiss to her temple then rests his chin on her shoulder. “Did you get enough bumps and bruises?”

 

She grins. “I think I should be offended, but the answer is yes, so I guess the question was valid.”

 

He huffs quietly in her ear. “At least you gave them one or two in return, eh?”

 

Her smile widens. “Maybe three.”

 

“Three?” he exclaims teasingly. “That is indeed remarkable.”

 

She playfully hits his arms which are still around her and steps forward, forcing him to let go. “You watch yourself, Andor, or you’ll find yourself with a bruise or two of your own, complement of my fists.”

 

He salutes her with a half bow and she forces herself not to wince at how sorely and stiffly he moves. “My apologies, madam, I did not mean to imply anything other than my deepest respect.”

 

She smirks. “Nice recovery.”

 

“What can I say? My job requires I be quick on my feet.”

 

Once they’ve collected their food and sat themselves at a quiet table, she asks him what he’d done with his morning.

 

“Oh, this and that,” he replies evasively.

 

“What ‘this’ and what ‘that?’” she prods.

 

“Mostly helped get systems online in central command and also went on a reconnaissance flight of the planet.”

 

She looks at him sharply. “Are you sure you should be doing that?” Images of his bloodied and broken form lying in the bay of _Rogue One_ rise in her mind.

 

He gives her an even look. “Yes.” The, _I know my limits_ and _please respect and trust me not to exceed them unless necessary,_ left unsaid.

 

“Okay,” she lets out a breath. _He’s been taking care of himself completely independently for a long time, Jyn. If you smother him in concern I’m sure you will not like the outcome,_ she counsels herself.

 

Her acceptance brings a large smile to his face that makes letting go and trusting worth it. But then she sees his eyes narrow and face harden, his gaze drawn to something over her shoulder.

 

She turns to look and her heart sinks as she sees the same two men she’d taken down back on Yavin 4 confront Bodhi as he tries to make his way to her and Cassian’s table. She hears Cassian start to rise, but she places her hand over his to stop him. “Don’t,” she murmurs. “I tried that already. I’d hoped it would stop with the Death Star’s destruction, but I guess I was wrong.”

 

Cassian’s face darkens further. “You mean this has happened before?” he demands, accent thickening in his anger.

 

She nods sadly. “I think we need to let it come from Bodhi himself, as long as those two men don’t get physical. I think they won’t leave him alone if we keep intervening; they’ll just wait until he’s alone and we’re not there to stop them.”

 

Cassian glances at her, slowly sitting back down as his gaze returns to the three men. “I’m not so sure even Bodhi standing up for himself would stop those two… I’ve known them since they joined the Rebellion and they’ve always been looking for trouble,” he explains darkly. “I will give Bodhi a little more time to sort it out himself—it could be good for him—but if things get worse, I am stepping in.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Moments later, Bodhi joins them at their table, having artfully extricated himself from the confrontation. “Good afternoon, friends!” he greets, tone so artificially cheery and upbeat that Jyn sees right through it and she knows Cassian does as well.

 

“Afternoon, Bodhi,” Cassian nods in greeting. “How would you feel about learning to fly a snowspeeder this afternoon?”

 

Bodhi looks at him in surprise. “Me? You want me to learn to fly a snowspeeder? But I’ve only ever flown cargo shuttles.”

 

“Shuttles are useful, but there’s nothing quite like zipping along on a snowspeeder,” he asserts, eyes sparkling. “And besides, any decent rebel should be able to pilot it and you’re more than decent.”

 

Jyn knows exactly what Cassian is doing and she loves him for it. Not only is he distracting Bodhi from the unpleasant interaction of moments before, he’s making sure Bodhi has a place in the Rebellion and reminding him that he has friends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support and feedback! Given the response, I have already begun work on a prequel of Cassian and K2's first meeting, so if you all have specific requests or ideas for it, feel free to let me know.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure about this,” Bodhi asks for the thousandth time.  
> Cassian nods. “One hundred percent. What can go wrong?”  
> Bodhi really wishes he hadn’t said that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, LONG chapter ahead! I considered breaking this up into two because it is really, really long, but that would have meant extending the length of the whole story beyond the 17 chapters I promised, so I decided to just post it all as one. Happy Friday! 
> 
> Again, I'm probably being way over cautious, but just a heads up/warning that there is another fight scene in this chapter. It definitely isn't worse than anything cannon, but if you want to skip the details, skip from the part where it says "Flies out of his field of vision, is more like it." to the part where it says "The hallway falls silent."

“Are you sure about this,” Bodhi asks for the thousandth time.

 

Cassian nods. “One hundred percent. What can go wrong?”

 

Bodhi really wishes he hadn’t said that… it almost invites trouble.

 

They’re standing in front of a snowspeeder in the main hangar and Cassian is currently trying to convince Bodhi to give it a try. Bodhi had been all for it until he’d gotten up close and personal with the ship and seen just how incredibly _small_ it is. He’d sat in the pilot’s seat for all of thirty seconds before his brain had gone “ _nope!_ ” and he’d scrambled out of the ship so fast that he’d almost fallen to the floor.

 

Cassian had spent the next several minutes convincing the pilot to give it another try, carefully going over the controls and safety measures in place, before finally persuading Bodhi to sit back in the seat. That’s when Bodhi had asked if Cassian was sure about this.

 

The Captain leans against the outside of the ship and claps him on the shoulder. “I have complete confidence in your abilities and, should something go wrong, this ships is altered specifically for training so that the cargo position can assume piloting control. There’s nothing to worry about!”

 

Bodhi cranes his head to look over his shoulder at the back of the snowspeeder. “But the cargo position faces the rear, so if you assumed control, you’d be facing backwards while we fly forwards, which means your controls would be reversed: if you turn to your right we go to your left. Oh yes, that’s very comforting.”

 

The man nods. “Of course. It’s not that difficult,” he states dismissively.

 

Bodhi thinks Cassian’s full of it. _Not that difficult to fly a ship forward at high speeds while the pilot faces the wrong way, no not at all. It’s a walk in the fields of Naboo!_ “As strange as it may seem, your words are not making me feel better,” he argues stubbornly, arms folded across his chest.

 

Cassian stares at him for several long moments and it’s all Bodhi can do not to shift beneath his scrutinizing gaze, until the man puts his hands on Bodhi’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “How about this. We’ve both piloted through a shockwave that should have killed us, I think we can handle the open spaces and snows of Hoth. You are already a great pilot, it’s just a matter of learning new controls. I _promise_ that we will be fine.”

 

 _Well, how can I say no to that?_ Bodhi sighs heavily. “Okay, but I’d like to register my opinion that I think you have a ridiculous amount of confidence in me.”

 

“Your opinion is registered and dismissed. I am never overconfident. In my line of work, it would get me killed,” Cassian admits seriously, surprising Bodhi, before the other man’s face breaks into a smile. “Now, let’s go flying!”

 

*

 

They speed along the icy surface of Hoth, snow whipping past at breakneck speed, just barely whiter than Bodhi’s hands clenched on the steering mechanism. Cassian had promised him it would be fun… he is _not_ having fun yet. In fact, this is the exact opposite of fun. It’s _terrifying!_ He’s sure that any moment he’s going to make a mistake and send them crashing into the ground, or that his hand will twitch and send them spiraling into an uncontrolled barrel roll. _Flying a cargo shuttle is beyond easy compared to this!_ It also makes him reevaluate his childhood dream of becoming a Starfighter pilot; suddenly he’s not so sad that that dream never panned out.

 

“Bodhi,” Cassian calls from over his shoulder, “I can practically hear you thinking catastrophic thoughts. You are doing wonderfully! You know the controls, you understand the principles, you’ve flown for thousands of hours and you’re a great pilot,” the man reassures. “Now relax your death grip and soften your eyes from their laser focus on the horizon. You are _not_ going to get us killed. If I cannot stop us from crashing, then I have truly lost my touch and no longer deserve to be an Intelligence Captain!”

 

Cassian continues to talk, switching subjects seemingly at random—beginning by contrasting Hoth from his own home planet, to mentioning other places he’s visited much less hospitable than it—and Bodhi does his best to relax and take the Captain’s advice. He draws in a deep breath. _I am the pilot._ He loosens his hands enough to restore circulation to them. _I stood up to the Empire, defected from them and lived._ He slowly starts glancing at the landscape zooming by. _I was instrumental in the destruction of the greatest weapon this galaxy has ever seen._ He starts picking out the beautiful rolling snow covered mountains off to the left. _I have friends, now, who support me and accept me as I am._ The sun shining through the intermittent clouds really is beautiful. _I am THE pilot!_

 

The tension leaves his body and he settles back into his chair. Like Cassian said, he’s flown before and he’s escaped the Death Star’s blast… he can handle a little two person speeder. As he relaxes, the exhilaration of flying across the landscape in such a small ship hits him. A cargo shuttle is like a huge lumbering rancor, but this ship is like a sleek suubatar. He loves it.

 

 “Okay, I admit I was wrong and you were right. This is great!” he exclaims, a grin breaking out across his face.

 

“Isn’t it? I’m glad you are finally enjoying it. However, you may want to watch out for that herd of tauntaun approaching from the left; you’re about to hit them,” the Captain informs him calmly.

 

Bodhi’s eyes flick left, taking in the sight of the tauntauns with horror and quickly realizing Cassian’s right: they’re on a collision course. Instinctively he jerks the controls to the right, steering them safely clear of the animals but causing them to head directly for a sheer cliff that’s somehow appeared out of nowhere without him noticing— _damn snow!_ He jerks the controls up and to the left, sending the ship shooting into the sky where it proceeds into the uncontrolled barrel roll he’d been so worried about earlier, before it finally levels out upside down and begins free falling towards the ground.

 

Bodhi screams. He has no wish to die because of a stupid pilot error—his _own_ stupid pilot error—on a cold, forsaken planet in the middle of nowhere, his body sure to become food for scavenging wampas. He’s convinced his life is going to flash before his eyes as the ground approaches above his head, positive there’s about to be a jarring impact and then oblivion. But at the last minute, his brain catches up to events and instincts take over. He jerks the controls to right the ship and pull up just enough so that they crash in a rather bumpy, skipping landing, but not on their heads.

 

His hands tremble as he forcibly removes them from the wheel. He checks his body for any sign of damage or injury and when he comes back clear, issues a sigh of relief. But then he hears gasping from behind him and his heart stutters. _Oh gods, Cassian! What if I’ve just injured one of my only friends! What if it’s fatal?!_ he thinks in panic, immediately leaping to the worst case scenario, until the gasps turn into something more identifiable. It’s then that Bodhi realizes Cassian is laughing. Laughing!

 

Initially, relief floods Bodhi— _he’s probably not hurt if he’s laughing—_ but then anger immediately replaces it. “Why the Kriff didn’t you take control?!” he demands, unbuckling and twisting around to stare furiously at the back of the man’s head.

 

It takes a moment for Cassian to quiet his laughter, but when he does, he turns sideways so that Bodhi can see his face. “Oh, you were doing fine!”

 

Bodhi gapes at him. “I almost ran us into a cliff!”

 

“But you didn’t,” Cassian points out, infuriatingly calm.

 

“But I almost did!” Bodhi yells, trying to make the other man understand they’d very nearly died!

 

“But,” the Captain states calmly again, “you didn’t.”

 

All Bodhi can do is stare at him, lost for words.

 

This just causes Cassian to start chuckling again. “Oh that would have been poetic: two heroic rebels taken out by a mild-mannered herd of tauntan.”

 

 _The man is insane. Certifiably insane. And he doesn’t even have the excuse of having been interrogated by a Bor Gullet!_ Bodhi thinks to himself. He voices this aloud.

 

Cassian quiets his laughter and smirks at him. “I’m hardly insane. I wasn’t going to let it get to a point of near disaster.”

 

“You don’t call nearly diving headfirst into certain death a near disaster!?”

 

“We did not almost dive headfirst into near disaster,” Cassian corrects. “We were more than a hundred feet up when you finally corrected our fall. I was going to let us get all the way down to fifty feet before stepping in, but I obviously didn’t need to. Besides,” he continues, grinning, “that’s the most fun I’ve had in ages!” And he breaks out laughing again.

 

Bodhi has never heard the man laugh before. Smile? Yes. Huff in amusement? Absolutely. But outright laugh? No. He hadn’t even known Cassian _could_ laugh, had thought perhaps the man never would again because of everything he’d been through. But the Captain has a beautiful laugh and it’s infectious. Pretty soon, Bodhi finds himself chuckling at the image Cassian paints of two decorated pilots meeting a snowy and fire-y end, not in glorious battle, but because of a herd of stupid tauntaun. He admits that in hindsight it was rather amusing. But even though he recognizes that, he refuses to pilot them home, insisting that Cassian take the controls. He’s had quite enough excitement for one day and if this time they run into a wampa, he wants it to be Cassian who has to deal with it.

 

*

 

Bodhi walks through the base towards his room late in the evening (or rather, early in the morning, as it’s well past midnight), his heart light and mind clear. Despite their misadventure, he had truly had fun with Cassian that afternoon, plus he’d just left one of the security rooms where Cassian had showed him how it all worked and taught him to run it himself. That’s why he was still up so late, as Cassian had volunteered for the graveyard monitoring shift and invited Bodhi along. It felt good knowing that, with a little more training, he won’t be just a useless body in the Alliance but a fully functional rebel, dedicated to helping the cause.

 

So of course, that is when the world decides to spit in his face. Or rather, the two men who won’t leave him alone decide to literally spit in his face, appearing out of nowhere in the abandoned hallway (the world just doesn’t give him the courtesy of a heads up).

 

Bodhi is surprised and stunned at the childish act and ambush, but he stiffens his spine, stands a little taller and doesn’t back down. “Gentlemen, I think this has gone on long enough,” he states boldly. “I understand your frustration at and hate of the Empire, but I am _not_ the Empire. I am on your side.”

 

The two men—their names, Bodhi has discovered, are Ienvich and Lorat—just stare at him with malice. While he most certainly is not a warrior like Baze, Chirrut, or any of his new friends, and has never been a combatant in a fight in his life, he’s ready to defend himself with all he can, prepared for them to strike at any moment. But of course, he’s not prepared to be struck in the back of the head with something decidedly harder than a fist, by a third, unseen assailant… because who is ever ready for that?

 

He crumples to his knees, one hand dropping to the floor to stop his descent and the other instinctively going to the back of his head. He feels blood.

 

Ienvich kneels down beside him and hisses in his ear, “You may fool everyone else, but I know what you are. You’re Imperial scum not fit for anything more than lining the stomach of a sarlacc.” He grabs Bodhi’s hair and yanks it back, forcing his eyes to meet the man’s and drawing a cry of pain from Bodhi’s lips. “You’re not going to see another dawn in your worthless life,” Ienvich sneers.

 

Bodhi’s vision blurs and his head pounds, but he uses the fact that the men think he’s too weak and scared to strike back; the element of surprise is a powerful weapon. He lifts his hand from the floor and brings it up in the strongest uppercut to the man’s jaw that he can muster. The man’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes widen in surprise. _I hope he bit his tongue in half,_ Bodhi thinks fuzzily, before he’s knocked to the ground in retaliation. A booted foot swings down to strike him in the face and he thinks, _That’s it, I’m done. I’ve had a good life,_ when all of a sudden a shout echoes through the hall and the boot disappears from his field of vision. Flies out of his field of vision, is more like it.

 

He hears several thumps uncomfortably close to his head and decides to attempt to distance himself from whatever’s going on. He rolls onto his stomach with the idea of making it to his feet, but the furthest he gets is his knees, before he slumps against the wall, world spinning dangerously. At least he’s managed to put three feet between himself and the furious fight taking place right before his eyes.

 

The man who struck him from behind is already down, lying boneless on the hallway floor, the bloody wound to his temple a stark contrast to the white of the snowy ground. Bodhi can’t help but think it’s justice, given the state of the back of his own head.

 

His eyes skitter further upwards where a dark haired man currently trades blows with the two men left. While it’s two on one, it’s clear the dark haired man has the upper hand.

 

 _Cassian,_ Bodhi’s brain supplies. The dark haired man is Cassian. _I need to help him,_ Bodhi thinks sluggishly. _He should not be fighting in his condition… how is he even doing that?_ But Bodhi’s body vehemently disagrees with him and despite his best efforts, he can’t get his muscles to engage and pick him up off of the floor.

 

Lorat lands a blow to Cassian’s temple and Bodhi winces in sympathy, but the Captain barely flinches. He returns the blow with one of his own, striking the man directly in the throat and causing him to gag and stumble backwards. The remaining man aims a punch at Cassian’s torso, but he blocks it and steps closer to Ienvich, using the man’s forward momentum to spin him around and into a headlock with Cassian’s arm firmly around Ienvich’s throat, which turns them sideways to the still gasping Lorat. Ienvich shouts in surprise, before his shouts turn to wheezes, face slowly growing red as oxygen refuses to enter his throat. In desperation, he repeatedly slams his elbow back into Cassian’s ribs—Bodhi mentally screams at him to stop—to no avail. Cassian’s face twists in pain, but he does not let go.

 

As Ienvich’s movements grow slower and slower, Lorat finally recovers enough to launch a kick at the pair, screaming in rage as he aims a vicious blow at Cassian’s left knee. Cassian sees it coming, however, and twists just enough so that the blow strikes him in the back of the knee instead of the side, turning it from a crippling blow sure to break his leg into one that only knocks his foot out from under him, forcing him and the man he’s still holding to the ground.

 

Cassian finally releases Ienvich, who slumps to the floor with a thud, eyes closed, and Bodhi can’t tell if he’s breathing. Lorat throws himself at the kneeling Captain, knocking them both to the floor with Cassian on the bottom. The man delivers several blows to Cassian’s face, before Cassian unknowingly mimics Bodhi’s action from minutes earlier and strikes upwards with the heel of his hand, hitting the man squarely in the nose. Even Bodhi, sitting several feet away, hears it break.

 

Lorat shrieks and reels backwards, giving Cassian the leverage he needs to twist to the side and throw the man off of him. The Captain climbs slowly to his feet and easily deflects the man’s feeble attempts to ward him off with only one arm, the other firmly clutching his bleeding nose. Cassian wraps one hand around the flailing arm, twists it behind Lorat’s back and, when the man’s off balance, uses his other hand to slam Lorat’s head into the wall.

 

And just like that it’s over. The hallway falls silent except for Cassian’s heaving breaths and it is then that Bodhi realizes that, while Lorat and Ienvich had repeatedly cried out in either anger or pain, all throughout the exchange Cassian had remained utterly silent. Distantly, Bodhi wonders if it’s because the Captain’s job in Intelligence requires he be invisible at all times, even when under assault. _He’s had too much practice,_ Bodhi thinks, trying to guess at just how many encounters like this one Cassian must have had in order to have perfected his ability to maintain silence even when struck painfully. Bodhi doesn’t like the number he comes up with. Cassian’s back is to Bodhi now, until he turns and slowly approaches the pilot, moving stiffly.

 

Bodhi’s eyes skitter to the three forms lying motionless on the floor and his confused brain mixes up his priorities, going from regretting how much Cassian has had to go through in his life, to unthinkingly blurting out words far more hurtful to his friend than any physical blow could ever be. “Did you kill them?” Bodhi asks in horror.

 

He looks up in time to see Cassian flinch at the accusation in his voice, a dark, injured expression flitting across his face, before his eyes shutter and he wipes away any trace of emotion, replying wearily, “Of course not.”

 

Bodhi immediately wants to apologize and blame his muddled brain for jumping to a ridiculous assumption. He tries, he really does—opens his mouth and everything—but the words just won’t come out, though not for lack of trying. He just can’t get the syllables to line up right, despite the fact that moments earlier he’d had no trouble hurling a horrible judgement at his friend.

 

Cassian must see his distress because he kneels down in front of the pilot, in an awkward position due to the fact that he keeps his left leg extended as much as possible. Which reminds Bodhi of the blow that that leg took and also the fact that it was Cassian’s already injured leg.

 

“Hey,” the Captain says softly, hands reaching out to grip Bodhi’s face on either side, “relax, it’s okay. You took a pretty bad hit to your head, that’s why your brain feels fuzzy and won’t connect properly to your body.”

 

 _He sounds like he’s speaking from personal experience,_ Bodhi muses. _He probably is._

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Cassian apologizes, but all Bodhi can think is, _Thank the Force he got here when he did._ He tries to tell his friend there’s no need for apology, in fact _he_ should be the one apologizing that Cassian was hurt on his behalf, and this time it feels like the words will come out right, but Cassian continues before he can say a word. “I had a bad feeling once you left, but it took me a little while to trust it and come looking for you. I tried to stay out of this like Jyn asked, but not if it means you get hurt. That is absolutely unacceptable!” Cassian growls, accent thick. “But I promise you, it ends now. There will be no more!”

 

Bodhi’s not sure what Cassian can do to stop it—beyond beating some sense into the men, which was obviously no problem for the Captain, but Bodhi’s not sure the lesson will stick—but he decides now is not the time to mention that.

 

“Did they hit you anywhere besides your head?” Cassian asks in concern.

 

Wisely deciding that shaking his head is not a good idea—and besides, Cassian’s still holding it, his warm hands helping to ease the throbbing—he manages to move his thick tongue. “No.”

 

“Good,” Cassian exhales in relief. “Okay good. But we definitely need to get you to medical.”

 

Bodhi almost objects, until he realizes that 1) yes he definitely should go to medical and, 2) going to medical means Cassian has to take him to medical—there’s no way Bodhi can make it there on his own right now—which means Cassian has to go to medical, too. He blinks his eyes in consent, but he must have only closed them because moments later one of Cassian’s hands moves from his face to his shoulder and gently shakes it.

 

“Hey,” the man murmurs, keeping his voice low (which Bodhi’s pounding head appreciates), “don’t go to sleep on me now. Come on, on your feet.”

  
He hears the Captain rise slowly and opens his eyes to a hand extended out to him. Clasping it firmly, he lets Cassian pull him to his feet, slinging Bodhi’s arm over the other man’s shoulder.

 

*

 

Cassian’s body screams at him as the adrenaline quickly fades, every ache and pain that’s slowly been healing over the past many days reignited by the fight. He almost feels as terrible as he did after climbing the tower on Scarif, though on the positive side, this time he doesn’t have a gaping, bleeding wound in his side. The blows to his head weren’t so bad—Kay always accused him of having a thick skull, anyway—it’s the damage to his ribs and left leg that, if he’s honest with himself, worry him. No ribs broke, but he’s pretty sure one or two that had just healed, cracked— _Vorin won’t be pleased,_ he muses to himself—and his leg can barely support him. It’s not broken, he’s sure of that, but the muscles that had torn and healed are making their presence known with a vengeance. Of everything, it’s his leg that’s the most problematic at the moment. He could ignore the pain shooting through his ribcage for the sake of getting Bodhi safely to medical, but trying to walk on a leg that threatens to collapse no matter how hard he shoves the pain away, all the while partly supporting another person, well, he’s not certain he can keep them going much longer, and they’ve only managed to make it about ten feet down the hallway.

 

Though Bodhi isn’t heavy, he’s having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other and the ability to walk in a straight line appears to have abandoned him completely. Which means that Cassian not only has to support him, but also attempt to keep him from stumbling sideways or backwards, making every step pull painfully on his ribs and twist his leg.

 

Bodhi’s condition concerns him, though, so no matter what, Cassian is _going_ to get him to medical. Whatever it takes. Head traumas are difficult and terrify Cassian, because he feels he has the least control over them both in himself and when trying to care for others. So Bodhi _has_ to get to medical and Cassian isn’t about to let his own injuries be the cause for Bodhi getting injured further by bleeding in the brain.

 

They stumble a few more steps down the hall, Bodhi’s head hanging low, his eyes hooded and fixed firmly on his feet. Blood still trickles slowly through his hair to pool on the collar at the back of his shirt and his face is positively gray. Cassian curses internally. He knew he should have taken care of the confrontation in the mess hall! Jyn’s heart had been in the right place, but she doesn’t know those men like he does. He should have trusted his instincts when they’d yelled at him that Lorat and Ienvich wouldn’t stop. He just thanks the Force that he got to Bodhi when he did.

 

Just then, Bodhi takes a particularly weaving step, unintentionally pulling to the left and away from Cassian, which forces Cassian’s bad leg to brace in order to keep both of them from tumbling to the ground. It takes all of Cassian’s self-control and a significant amount of biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself from crying out in pain.

 

As he manages to pull Bodhi back on track, he immediately stops their forward progress in order to lean his right shoulder heavily against the wall, taking some weight off of his left leg. “I’m sorry,” he hisses out between clenched teeth, “I have to rest a moment.” He doesn’t try sitting down because he knows if either of them gets down to the ground, they’re not going to get back up. It’s at this point that he seriously considers attempting to shout out for help. He’s not sure if anyone would hear them, as it is around two in the morning and most of the base is asleep, but he’s desperate enough to give it a try. But just at that moment, Bodhi catches his attention by mumbling something he can’t quite make out.

 

“What’s that?” he asks the pilot breathlessly.

 

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Bodhi repeats, slightly less slurred.

 

“Okay, your head got hit harder than I thought if you’re talking that nonsense. What in the name of the Force are you sorry for?”

 

“For what I said.” Bodhi picks his head up slightly and manages to turn it to look more directly at Cassian. “I leapt to a conclusion—a conclusion I had no reason to… wasn’t thinking. You’re not…” he pauses, trying to force his tongue into submission, “not a killer.”

 

His heart twists at the pilot’s earnestness, because he knows Bodhi truly believes what he’s saying. _If only he knew._ Cassian can still see the crumpled form of Tivik lying at his feet, feel the sinking, chilling feeling that always accompanies taking a life, especially taking a life of someone who was only trying to help or was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He shudders involuntarily, remembering the moment he’d realized Tivik had to die… that he had to kill the man, his ally. A feeling of such intense self-loathing and hate had filled him as he donned a mask of soothing calm and had comforted the man, only to shoot him in the back. It’s the dark side of Cassian that he knows he’ll never be rid of. He can tell himself it’s for the sake of the greater good, for the sake of the Cause, but that never makes it okay, that never lets him forgive himself. It’s one of the many reasons he always works alone; he doesn’t want anyone else to witness what he’s willing to do, what he’s capable of and what he’s become for the sake of the Rebellion’s success.

 

“You’re wrong,” he disagrees, voice rough with emotion, “I absolutely am. I’ve killed too many, Bodhi.”

 

The pilot blinks owlishly at him. “Not with’t good reason,” he asserts confidently.

 

Cassian looks away. “Depends on your point of view.”

 

“Cass’n, you didn’t shoot Gal’n, you—” he pauses as if to organize his thoughts, “—you’re a good man. And you j’st saved m’life,” Bodhi states, as if that closes the matter, waving the arm not over Cassian’s shoulder at the scene behind them, unfortunately causing him to overbalance backwards.

 

“Hey! Whoa!” Cassian exclaims, bracing himself and holding onto their standing position with all of his strength.

 

They stabilize and Cassian’s about to try calling out for help—pride be damned—when he hears from behind them, “What the hell?!”

 

He cranes his neck to look over his shoulder and sees a tall man rapidly approaching from the other end of the hall. The man’s eyes fix on the three unconscious bodies Cassian had left behind, before moving up to lock onto the Captain’s gaze. The man’s eyes widen slightly—Cassian thinks it’s in recognition, but also possibly due to his and Bodhi’s battered state—before he picks up the pace, quickly drawing level with the two men still leaning against the wall.

 

“What the hell happened?” the man demands, brow furrowed.

 

Cassian doesn’t _think_ the man is hostile or that he’s about to attack, but he can’t be sure. “Those men attacked my friend here, completely unprovoked. I saw to it that they were introduced to the error of their ways,” Cassian replies, looking at the man levelly, daring him to object to his methods.

 

The man’s eyes harden and flick back to the three prone figures before scanning both Cassian and Bodhi’s condition from head to foot. It’s unusual for there to be a rebel that Cassian doesn’t know—information is his job, after all—and he could swear he’s seen this man before, but he can’t place where…

 

“Is that so?” the man asks, voice hard, and Cassian’s prepared to push Bodhi behind him if the man decides to take Lorat and Ienvich’s side, but then he continues, “Well I’m just sorry I didn’t arrive before the action ended so I could give them a few lumps of my own.” His face breaks out in a smirk.

 

Cassian relaxes and the smirk suddenly makes it click in his mind where he’d seen this man before. _This is the smuggler who helped Leia escape and Skywalker destroy the Death Star. What was his name? Soron? Solon? Solo? Ah, Solo._ He’d seen the exact same smirk on the man when they stood in the hall to accept their medals. He returns the man’s smirk with a half-smile of his own that ends up being more like a grimace as he attempts to shift Bodhi’s arm over his shoulder to a more comfortable position. The pilot has mostly tuned the world out, though he’s still aware enough to attempt to stay on his feet.

 

The smirk disappears from Solo’s face and he steps forward, hands reaching out towards Bodhi, but not touching him. “Can I give you a hand with your friend?”

 

For a moment Cassian is hesitant to trust Bodhi with Solo, as he doesn’t know the man, but he only sees honest concern in the other man’s gaze, so he nods his head. “That would be most appreciated.”

 

At Cassian’s nod, the taller man quickly ducks under Bodhi’s other arm, immediately relieving Cassian of a significant amount of weight. It’s all he can do to suppress a sigh of relief.

 

“Where are we headed?” Solo asks as they begin slowly moving forward.

 

“Medical,” Cassian replies shortly, not because he wants to be rude, but because he needs to save his strength.

 

“Makes sense. What about those guys?”

 

By the way that he feels Solo shift, Cassian can tell he’d just nodded back at Lorat, Ienvich and Baro, but he doesn’t see the gesture as his eyes are focused firmly on putting one foot in front of the other. “I could care less about them,” Cassian hisses angrily, accent thickening. “But I suppose I will inform medical once we arrive and make sure they are locked up until I or Leia can deal with them personally.”

 

“Leia?”

 

“Yes, strong young woman, long brown hair, sharp tongue, saved your ass by throwing you down a garbage chute—”

 

“I know who she is,” Solo cuts him off. “It just sounds like you know her personally since you didn’t call her ‘Princess.’”

 

There’s no question in the man’s statement, so Cassian doesn’t answer in favor of using as little breath as possible for anything other than getting air into his lungs.

 

Unfortunately that doesn’t satisfy the smuggler. “Sooo… you know her well?” Solo prompts.

 

“Yes,” Cassian replies curtly, indicating that line of questioning is over. He doesn’t want to talk to Solo about Leia right now, not when he’s not at one hundred percent. He makes a mental note to threaten Solo later if he observes the man to have any intentions towards his friend, but only once Cassian’s recovered enough to be sufficiently intimidating.

 

There’s a pause in the conversation as they turn a corner, before Solo asks, “What was those three guys’ problem with your friend here? Three on one screams desperate and is low even by my standards.”

 

Cassian grits his teeth, desperately wishing the man would stop trying to make casual conversation because it’s getting harder and harder for Cassian to both talk and walk. “They had issue with the fact that he’s an Ex-Imperial pilot, but really, they’ve just been looking for an excuse to cause trouble since they first joined the Rebellion.”

 

Solo hums in discontent. “Aren’t you guys those heroes that got the Death Star plans, though? Seems pretty thick of them to attack heroes.”

 

“They are idiots to attack any rebel, regardless of their background. Bodhi is not the only one with past ties to the Empire, he’s just the most visible one,” Cassian grinds out. “And we just did what anyone else would have, given the chance.”

 

Solo snorts. “That’s not what I heard. I heard everyone else was too chicken and you guys were the only ones with enough gall to defy the Council and get the job done. You’re all crazy if you ask me. Brave, I’ll give you that, but crazy. What were you guys thinking?”

 

Cassian registers a hint of admiration in the man’s voice, but it’s mostly masked by his brashness and honest bewilderment at how they could put their lives on the line like that. Cassian narrows his eyes and tries to look across Bodhi at the man. Solo’s staring straight ahead, face casual. “Are you saying there has never been anyone in your life that you would do anything for? Do anything to protect?”

 

Solo frowns. “What’s that got to do with anything?

 

“Just answer the question,” he commands.

 

“All right all right, don’t get your flight suit in a twist,” the man grumbles. “Yeah, there’s one person I can think of that I would do that for: my co-pilot.”

 

“Then there’s the answer to your question,” Cassian asserts firmly, hoping that’s the end to the conversation. They’re almost to medical. _Just a little farther, just hold on a little longer._

 

“What?” Solo demands in bewilderment. “That’s totally different! Being willing to die for someone, a tangible friend that you trust, is totally different from being willing to die for a cause, an abstract concept!” he objects.

 

Cassian sighs, rolling his eyes. Now is _not_ the time for him to be having a deep conversation of morals and dedication with someone who’s clearly never thought of “the greater good” before but is now beginning to, not when Cassian’s practically dead on his feet. But Solo obviously isn’t going to let it go and if Cassian stops talking now, he’ll know that something’s up, know that Cassian’s about to collapse. “It is not totally different,” he contradicts. “For me—and for most of the people in this Alliance—protecting someone you love at all costs means protecting the _Rebellion_ and ensuring it succeeds at all costs. How could I protect my friends in a galaxy ruled completely by the Empire? The answer is, I couldn’t. Given enough time, their reach would expand to every system and every planet, and their fist of control would tighten until it squeezes the life and freedom from everyone. So it’s not about being willing to die for an abstract concept, it’s about recognizing that that abstract concept is the _only_ hope you have of keeping the ones you love safe. In order to protect those I care about, the Rebellion _must_ win.”

 

And that’s all Cassian can give the man, because if he devotes any more breath to talking, he is going to drop to the floor and wish Solo the best of luck in carting two deadweights the rest of the two hundred feet to medical.

 

Fortunately Solo falls silent, and from the look on his face that Cassian glimpses out of the corner of his eye, the man is deep in thought. _Good, let him chew on that for a while._ Perhaps he can’t change the smuggler’s mind or ways, but he’s given it his best shot for Leia’s sake. He remembers her blush when he teased her about liking the “egotistical” man, and while he’s not completely certain Solo is a good fit for the Rebellion, he can see that the man has a good heart beneath all of his bluster and Cassian’s done all he can to coax that goodness to the surface.

 

He doesn’t realize they’ve reached medical until Solo stops them in order to cue the door to open— _just goes to show how out of it I am._ They make their way into the dimly lit room and Solo starts shouting “Can we get some help in here?!” for which Cassian is grateful, because he truly does not have strength left to do it himself.

 

He helps slide Bodhi onto the bed and Solo leans over the pilot to gently tap his face. “Hey, you still with us, kid?”

 

Bodhi’s eyes flicker open and though his pupils are blown, he grins loopily up at the man. “You think we’re heroes,” he comments dazedly.

 

Solo huffs. “I _thought_ you weren’t as out of it as you seemed, guess I was right. You’re damn right I think you’re heroes, but I think you’re forgetting the part where I called you crazy, too.”

 

Cassian takes a few steps back in order to make room for the two medics who rush in and Solo does as well, coming to a stop on the Captain’s left. The smuggler folds his arms. “He’ll be okay, right?” he asks Cassian, and Cassian would almost say there’s a hint of concern in the other man’s voice.

 

He opens his mouth to retort that he’s not a medic so why is Solo asking him, and that Bodhi had better be okay or those three men are going to wish they’d never been born, but the words never make it past his lips. It’s at this moment that his body firmly informs him that it has not been a good thirty-six hours. His ribs had been struck multiple times in the process of waking Jyn from a nightmare the night before, he’d been in a jolting crash earlier that day, and not to mention the fight against three opponents, which had severely aggravated his unhealed wounds. So it really shouldn’t surprise him that his body decides it’s time to shut down.

 

His eyes slip close and he feels himself slowly falling backwards—distantly, he knows that his head contacting the floor is going to hurt… _Bodhi won’t be the only one with a concussion_ —but then he hears a shout of surprise just to his left as strong arms catch him, and then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bodhi :( but things are going to start looking up for him!  
> And poor Cassian... I just can't leave the poor guy alone :D  
> I really enjoyed including Han. Yes, it was a challenge, but I like him opposite Cassian because in a way they are both polar opposites and somewhat similar. So it was cool to just brush on that, and I definitely plan to attempt to do more of that in the sequel.  
> One more chapter left!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the close of this tale. Wow. It's so hard to believe this is the end! But it's only the temporary end, I promise. I've written the prequel I was musing about in earlier author notes, the one of Cassian and Kay's first meeting. I still have to edit and fix it, but I hope to post that sometime this week. And then I've also begun work on a sequel that follows this story directly. It's still in the very rough draft phase, but I hope to get the first chapter up in a week or two. As always, if you all have any requests or ideas, please feel free to voice them!
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoy this last chapter and that you've enjoyed reading the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

“Where the HELL ARE THEY?!” Jyn yells as she storms into one of the command rooms, oblivious to the stares she draws, her gaze focusing in on the only other woman in the room.

 

Leia looks at her calmly, the polar opposite of the rage that Jyn feels burning inside of her, and quietly requests people clear the room. Everyone scurries to oblige. Once they are alone, the Princess steps forward and greets Jyn as if nothing is the matter. As if their friends had not been brutally attacked last night and were now lying in medical. “Good morning, Jyn.”

 

“Where the _hell_ ,” Jyn repeats, reigning in her temper to a hiss instead of a shout, “are those miserable hutt-spawn.”

 

“I assume you’re referring to Corporals Lorat, Ienvich and Baro. If so, I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Jyn.”

 

“Why the kriff not?!” she yells, rocketing back to peak volume, losing her cool as quickly as she’d gotten it.

 

“Because I don’t want you to do anything rash and attempt to injure them further or otherwise assault them.”

 

“They deserve it!” Jyn shouts, unable to believe that Leia is protecting them.

 

The Princess throws up her hands in supplication. “I don’t argue that point, they deserve whatever you would throw at them and more. I am _livid_ at their inexcusable behavior. I cannot believe they stooped so low and let prejudice and judgement blind them to reason. But it’s not them I’m protecting, I’m protecting you from yourself. The last thing I need is for Cassian to wake up to discover his…” she hesitates, gauging Jyn’s reaction as she continues, “…shall we say partner? His partner has been thrown in lockup because she assaulted some prisoners, even though it may have been justified,” Leia explains, eyes sparkling with humor. “While I would gladly sit on the sidelines and watch you deliver their justice, I cannot in good conscience do that. The Alliance has to operate under strict rules and guidelines in order to maintain peace between so many differing nations and peoples, rules that clearly state attacking a fellow rebel—even one convicted of wrongdoing—is a crime to be punished, and I cannot make an exception for a friend no matter how much I desire to.”

 

Jyn folds her arms. Part of her understands what Leia is doing and applauds her for it (and she wishes she, herself, had the self-control and calm to handle the situation with such dignity) but the rest of her just _really_ wants to punch someone. Three specific someones, actually. She’s kicking herself repeatedly for asking Cassian to restrain himself from stepping in yesterday at lunch—because if she hadn’t, maybe both Cassian and Bodhi would not be injured and laid up in medical… maybe Bodhi would be able to see straight (though Yevez assures her that Bodhi’s difficulty seeing is only temporary) and maybe Cassian would not have re-broken two of his just healed ribs, torn ligaments in his still damaged leg and collapsed in exhaustion, all in the name of defending his friend. If she could take her anger out on someone else—specifically the spineless perpetrators—she might be able to stop beating herself up over her error in judgement. At last she sighs, grudgingly acquiescing to Leia’s wisdom. “At least promise me that they are being dealt with severely.”

 

Leia’s eyes harden and her calm façade slips to reveal a malicious grin. “Oh, trust me, Jyn. By the time I’m done with them, they will wish they’d never even entertained the thought of hurting Bodhi, let alone crossing paths with me or with Cassian.”

 

Jyn immediately feels better. If she can’t mete out the punishment herself, Leia is the next best option. _Those poor fools,_ she thinks, vowing never to get on Leia’s bad side. _I almost feel sorry for them… Almost, but not quite._

 

*

 

Cassian wakes to a persistent rhythmic tapping coming from somewhere beyond his feet. He immediately identifies that he’s lying on a cot in medical and that his body _aches_ , but not as much as he’d anticipated it would— _got to love those bacta tanks_. His head, however, appears fully intact and undamaged, which is a most pleasant surprise given that the last time he’d been conscious he’d been on a one way trip towards the floor. He vaguely remembers arms slowing his descent and makes a mental note to thank Solo later, both for catching him and for his help in getting Bodhi to medical. Critical self-assessment complete, he blinks open his eyes to the bright light in order to identify the source of the tapping.

 

Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t. Vorin stands at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and face as close to livid as Cassian has seen in quite some time. Vorin is a fairly easy going, generally happy person by nature, so it takes a lot to perturb him and draw his ire. Apparently Cassian’s latest adventure had been enough to push him over the edge.

  
Cassian sighs, shutting his eyes and muttering hopefully, “Is it too late to pretend you didn’t just see me wake up?”

 

The tapping halts. “Oh I think we are _far_ past that point, my friend,” Vorin responds, voice laced with anger. “When I released you from medical on the stipulation that you only engage in _light_ activity, this is not what I had in mind!” he hisses.

 

Cassian winces as he raises an arm to cover his face, as if that would provide him a shield against his friend’s wrath. “In my defense, I didn’t _intend_ to get into a fight,” he argues. “It just sort of… happened.”

 

“Uh huh.” The medic’s voice indicates he is far from appeased. “You just _happened_ to engage in combat with three men when your body had not yet fully healed from nearly dying a few weeks ago! And the worst part is, that’s exactly what happened so I can’t even be mad at you for what you did! Because if you hadn’t just _happened_ upon the fight, then a good man would probably be dead! Unbelievable! Why do you make it so kriffing hard to be mad at you, Andor?!” the man demands. “Can’t you for once _not_ be the hero!? Give someone else a chance!”

 

Cassian peers at the man from beneath his hand. “I would have gladly stepped aside and let someone else take care of it, but no one else was around,” he feels the need to point out.

 

“Irrelevant! Just stop being such a damn hero! It’s going to get you killed!” Vorin fumes.

 

Cassian huffs. “Next time I see something, I’ll be sure to look around and ask for someone else to intercede.”

 

His friend just growls at him.

 

“You know, for someone who claims he can’t be mad at me, you sure do a lot of shouting…” Cassian observes. “Are you sure you’re not angry?”

 

The medic shouts in frustration, pulling at his hair. “I said I’m not angry with what you did, Andor, because it needed to be done and I know you would do it again given the chance because that’s just who you are! If I were mad at you for just being you, then I have no right to call myself your friend. I am, however, mad because you terrify me sometimes! No, not in the way you always worry about,” Vorin dismisses upon seeing a look of hurt flash across Cassian’s face. “You don’t scare me with your Intelligence Captain persona, nor am I horrified by what you’ve done. No, you terrify me because you clearly value your own life so much less than others! You help everyone else before you help yourself, even at the cost of your own health! As your friend who cares about you, it’s frightening, infuriating and commendable all at the same time.” Vorin pauses, before exclaiming more loudly, “And, there is at least one other thing that I can be mad at you about!” He storms to the head of the bed and turns so that Cassian can see a small streak of gray hair on the man’s temple. “You see this?! This is all because of you, I’m sure of it! I’m twenty-nine. I should not have gray hair at twenty nine! It’s all your fault!”

 

“I think it makes you look rather dashing,” Cassian compliments.

 

The medic whips his head around to stare at the captain. “You can’t talk your way out of this, not this time Andor. I may not be able to be furious with you, but I can sure as hell make you furious with me! You are not to leave this facility, you are not to leave this _bed_ for three days at _minimum!_ No exceptions.”

 

Cassian stares at his friend. “You keep saying you’re not angry, but you certainly have the appearance of a man who is…”

 

Vorin’s eyes harden. “Keep pushing and I’ll make it five days minimum,” he threatens.

 

Cassian’s about to reply with a retort certain to up him to six days, when a voice interrupts him. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Yevez, perhaps you’d like to go ahead and write it into his medical instructions and make it official?”

 

Cassian pales at the sound of the too calm, too sweet voice. He can’t see the owner of the voice, as Vorin blocks his view, but he knows who it is. The medic’s face turns from a frown to a smug smile, watching Cassian’s panicked face. “You know what?” the blond replies, “I think you’re right. In fact, I’ll go do that right now and leave you alone with our brave hero.”

 

Cassian glares at his friend. “Traitor,” he hisses.

 

Vorin’s grin only widens at that as he backs away, quickly fleeing and revealing Jyn Erso.

 

She stares at Cassian, her face blank and unreadable, which is highly unusual. She’s not an open book—most people have difficulty reading her—but Cassian has always been good at catching the subtle cues of her face and body language. Now, though, she’s as mysterious as the few corners of the galaxy yet undiscovered. He can guess why she’s here, though, and fears he knows what’s about to come.

 

He groans. “I’m really not in the mood, Jyn. I just had Vorin lecture me on my risky actions and tendency to put others first too often and at the expense of my own health. I don’t need you telling me I was stupid, too.”

 

She says nothing, just starts stalking towards him.

 

“I would do it again!” he states defensively. “Bodhi needed me and I wasn’t about to let three scumbags hurt him further. Are you even listening to me?” he demands as she ignores him.

 

She marches right up to him as he opens his mouth to continue to defend himself, but she silences whatever protest he was about to voice with a kiss.

 

 _Well, that was not what I was expecting._ He’d been prepared for her usual fiery temper and a tongue lashing for injuring himself, he had not been prepared for _affection_.

 

She pulls away from him, eyes sparkling.

 

“Uhm?” he utters intelligently.

 

She smirks. “I considered yelling at you, but I figured you’d expect that and I strive to be unexpected. Plus, the look of surprise on your face was priceless. How are you?” she inquiries innocently.

 

“I’ve been better,” he replies slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

She nods sagely. “I imagine you have.”

 

Upon seeing his face still wary, she smiles at him, then. A warm smile. “Stop looking at me like I’m about to snap your head off. I’m not mad at you. You did what you had to do and I’m proud of you for it, even though you scared the living _daylights_ out of me, Cassian. Imagine my surprise when Yevez pounded on my door in the middle of the night, yelling to inform me that you were injured in medical again. I admit that I agree with Yevez in that I wish you were a little more selfish sometimes, but I wouldn’t ask you to change what you did.”

 

A hesitant smile slips onto his face, so of course, that’s when she adds, “Of course I still think what you did was stupid,” she informs him sternly, “but brave.”

 

Instead of that statement wiping the smile off of his face the way she’d clearly intended it to, his smile spreads.

 

She frowns at him in consternation that he’s apparently completely ignoring her rebuke. “What?”

 

“You think I’m brave,” he tells her smugly.

 

She gapes at him, then bursts out laughing. “Cassian Andor, if you’re only now figuring that out, I don’t know how you’ve lasted so long in Intelligence!” she leans forward and kisses him again. “Of _course_ I think you’re brave. In fact I _know_ you are. I’ve known it since Jedha, and you’ve proved it over and over again since then,” she murmurs to him earnestly.

 

Cassian has no words to respond, so instead he pulls her down beside him and nestles her into his arms, with her head resting on his shoulder. They sit in silence for a moment, before Jyn grumbles mutinously, “Leia won’t tell me where those three excuses for bantha fodder are… could you convince her to enlighten me?”

 

And it’s his turn to chuckle, no matter how much it hurts his ribs.

 

*

 

Vorin Yevez releases Cassian one day before he releases Bodhi. The pilot argues that Cassian’s injuries are worse than his, but the head medic tells him firmly that head wounds are more stubborn and take more time and he refuses to risk Jyn or Cassian coming to beat him up if he releases Bodhi too soon, only to have him collapse. Yevez also mutters something that Bodhi doesn’t quite catch, something about there being only so much silent and brooding Andor that he could take, but maybe the pilot imagines it.

 

Bodhi finds this highly unfair, but he knows it’s only because his friends care, so he keeps quiet. The man who helped him and Cassian to medical that night—Han Solo, he’s told later by Yevez—drops by a few times to check on both Bodhi and Cassian. He never stays long and he always seems a little conflicted: a strange mix of a carefree “don’t need anybody” outlook and oozing confidence, mixed with moments of uncertainty, almost like he’s questioning his attitude. Bodhi tries to interrogate Cassian about the smuggler’s weird behavior, because he doesn’t really remember anything from the two men’s conversation on their way to medical, only that they had one, but Cassian just waves him off and says the man has a lot to think about.

 

The day that Cassian leaves medical, he stops at Bodhi’s cot, looks him dead in the eye and promises that it will end now. Bodhi doesn’t need to ask what the “it” is… it’s clear from Cassian’s angry gaze and clenched jaw. Bodhi has a hard time believing there’s really anything Cassian can do to stop the distrust and hazing that some people show him—which occurs every day, even though the physical confrontation has only occurred once—but the captain’s gaze is so serious that the pilot doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s pointless.

 

But once he’s released from medical and starts moving around the base again, learning to operate various sections of it and continuing his snowspeeder career (much to his dismay), he does notice a marked shift in the way people treat him, even in the way people look at him or pass him in the halls. Gone are the sidelong glances, the eye contact avoidance and the fake smiles. They’re replaced with genuine friendliness and people interested in actual conversation with him. It takes a week and a half for him to have a full day where, at the end of it, he realizes he hadn’t looked over his shoulder even once out of fear of an attack or some snide comment. Lorat and Ienvich have disappeared, vanished from the base as if they’d never existed. Bodhi asks Cassian about them and all the man says is that the pilot won’t have to worry about them again. Bodhi figures they’ve probably been disciplined and transferred to a different base or faced some other fitting punishment, but he doesn’t ask again.

 

All in all, life looks pretty good for the Rebel Pilot.

 

*

 

Cassian finally feels _almost_ back to normal, health wise at least. And it’s about time! It’s been almost a month since Scarif, a little over twenty-three days since the Death Star’s destruction, and a little over a week since his confrontation with the men assaulting Bodhi. He can finally walk from one end of the base to the other without needing to catch his breath and he’s already scheduled his first off-planet mission departing a week from today. It’s a low level, low risk mission to one of his many contacts in order to bargain for some hyperdrive motivators. Since so many ships were destroyed at Scarif and during the run on the Death Star, the Alliance is dangerously low.

 

Currently, he’s standing in the command center, just finishing listening to an intercepted Imperial transmission that one of the technicians thought he should hear, when a commotion catches his—and everyone else’s in the room—attention. It’s Leia arguing animatedly with Solo, Chewbacca looking on from the sidelines, clearly conflicted as to whose side he should take. Moments later Leia throws her hands up in the air and yells, “Fine! Do what you want! Leave! I don’t even care!”

 

“Good!” the smuggler shouts back, turning away and marching towards the door, throwing “Come on, Chewie!” over his shoulder.

 

The wookie looks at Leia regretfully and moans a goodbye, before following his friend out the door.

 

Leia crosses her arms and glares at the now empty doorway as Cassian makes his way over to her. “Where are they going?”

 

“Who knows?!” she exclaims, face reddening in anger. “All he’ll say is he’s running a ‘top secret mission’—which is a pack of lies because I _know_ that nobody has assigned him anything—and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, which is really just code for _if_ he’ll be back! And I have no authority to hold him here because he hasn’t become an official part of the Alliance, and besides, it would be pointless even if I could!” she finishes angrily, turning to him. “That man is infuriating! Don’t you think so?”

 

Cassian wisely keeps his mouth shut, only offering a noncommittal shrug that satisfies Leia enough for her to turn her attention back to the smuggler. “He’s all ‘I’m all about money’ one minute and the next he’s saving the Rebellion and then the next he’s just disappearing! Sometimes I don’t know why I even bother!” She stops herself there, reigning in her temper and pulling out her cool, collected persona. “But what does it matter. He’s just a smuggler with a ship that’s a piece of junk. It’s no loss to the Alliance.”

 

Cassian’s not so sure about that. He thinks Solo could be a real asset to the Rebellion if he ever figures out the war of morals and priorities raging in his own head, the war that Cassian’s proud of himself for having helped ignite. And, he doesn’t think Leia’s right in her assessment of the man’s vague answer really being code for “if” he’ll be back. Cassian knows the man will be back; Leia has that sort of pull on people and he’s already witnessed Solo fall prey to it. The man’s a goner.  

 

*

 

A little over a week later, Jyn finds herself a bit at loose ends. She hasn’t found her niche in the Alliance yet, despite being all for the cause, now. She does her best to fit in where she’s needed, picking up scouting missions and Imperial frequency monitoring shifts where she’s needed, but she doesn’t feel like she truly belongs yet. People are perfectly friendly and welcoming to her, but she still lacks a specific purpose and drive. Of course she wants to join Intelligence, but apparently not just anyone can do that. Even for an established hero, there’s a screening process and more importantly, a training process.

 

She’s already begun the training and most of it is stuff she’s been doing all of her life—blending in, hiding, lying, etc.—but they won’t let her fast track through it just because of her hero status and her acquaintance with the Captain of Intelligence. And she grudgingly admits that there are things she doesn’t know, such as specific Imperial policies and laws which she needs to be familiar with in order to blend in better, languages and dialects—in case she doesn’t have an interpreter droid with her—and various other things she’d never considered. So until she completes the training a few month from now, she’s not supposed to leave Hoth. Which is why—despite her arguing—she did not go with Cassian on his mission to barter for hyperdrive motivators.

 

She still doesn’t think he should have even gone on a mission in the first place, let alone by himself, but he, Leia and General Draven had overruled her. If it had only been General Draven, she would have told him precisely where to shove it and ignored him, but she respected and trusted both Cassian and Leia. Despite how much she might have liked to, she didn’t allow herself the childish indulgence of sulking or not speaking to either of them as punishment, because that’s exactly what it would have been: childish. And it would have been a disservice to Cassian, something he very much did not need right now. She wants to be the good in his life, not the bad, just as he is the good in hers.

 

So she bit her tongue—only after telling him in no uncertain terms that he was to take it easy and that she would rain down hell and fire if he came back with even one scratch more than what he left with—and stayed silent, watching him fly away with his solemn promise that he would return.

 

That had been two days ago and—if he is still on schedule—he’s supposed to return later that day. Jyn strategically scheduled herself to have the afternoon monitoring shift so that she would be the first to know of his arrival and be the first to greet him over the radio.

 

Her shift doesn’t start for another hour, though, so until then she occupies herself with sparring a droid programmed to block her every move. She’d prefer for it to strike back, but she’ll take what she can get. Thus far she has only managed two hits on it, which to her seems dismal, but she understands that only a few other people have _ever_ managed to strike it, let alone on their first go with it. So that makes her feel a little better.

 

She hears the door to the training room open behind her but doesn’t bother to look and see who it is. It’s probably just someone else wanting either to vent their frustrations or work on honing their skills. That is, until a cleared throat and a loud “Hey!” catch her attention.

 

She turns, ready to ream the interrupter out for breaking her concentration—she’s sure she’d been about to land another hit on the droid—when her eyes land on who it is: Han Solo.

 

She hasn’t had much interaction with the man herself, but she knows how he helped Bodhi and Cassian the night Bodhi had been attacked and she thinks Solo’s a lot like she used to be, before her father died:  he watches out for himself, not caring what other people think or caring for other people at all—except for occasional moments that are gradually growing more frequent—without a specific purpose or cause. She thinks he’s slowly coming around, though, and she’s grateful to him for both his role in the Death Star’s destruction and the aide he provided to her friends.

 

“Yes?” she asks cautiously, unable to think of a reason he would come looking for her.

 

He stands awkwardly in the doorway, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, so uncharacteristically insecure that she worries a disaster has occurred. “You’re the one looking for the droid, right? For Andor?”

 

“The droid?” she asks quizzically, before understanding floods her and her heart begins racing. “The _Imperial_ droid?!”

 

“Yeah, the Imperial security droid. I’ve got a decommissioned one in perfect working order sitting in my ship and I need to know where to put it.”

 

“You _have_ one?!” she practically yells, unable to believe her ears.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, lady,” Solo says, face twisting into a smirk, confidence returning with a vengeance.

 

Jyn doesn’t know what to say. Her mind races with all sorts of questions— _where did he get one, how did he get one, and most importantly, WHY did he get one?—_ and her heart pounds with hope. It takes her so long to formulate an answer that the smuggler frowns and crosses his arms. “Look, if you don’t want it, you could at least have the decency to tell me to my face after I went to all of the trouble getting it, or I can just junk it.”

 

“No!” she exclaims, stepping towards the man so fast that he takes a step back, before immediately catching himself and stepping forward again. “No, don’t junk it!”

 

She thinks furiously, wondering where she should put it. _Engineering? The mechanical repair room?_ Strangely enough, she’s paranoid that if the droid’s put someplace public, something will happen to it and this will have been for naught. She knows it’s a ridiculous fear, but she’s not going to take any chances. “Can you bring it to my quarters, please?” It will be incredibly weird having a lifeless, hulking Imperial droid just sitting in her room, but she doesn’t think—hopes—it won’t be there for long.

 

The smuggler nods. “Sure thing. Mind coming with me to fetch it?”

 

She shakes her head. Of course she doesn’t mind. She follows the man through the hallways of the base and into the small hangar, where the _Millennium Falcon_ sits, Chewbacca standing outside its loading door, waiting for them.

 

“Hey, Chewie!” Solo calls. “Bring it out!”

 

The Wookie moans his assent, disappearing into the ship only to appear moments later with a hoverboard carrying an indistinguishable lump covered by a sheet.

 

At Jyn’s look of confusion, the smuggler shrugs. “Didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention.”

 

They make their way through the base, drawing some stares, but nobody stops them. When they finally reach her room, Chewbacca pulls the sheet off of the metal body and hauls it into her room, positioning it sitting on the floor.

 

She reaches out to touch his arm as he passes her on the way out the door, but stops herself just before contact. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

 

He looks down at her, his eyes kind, gently places a furry hand on her shoulder and croons something quietly.

 

“He says ‘you’re welcome,’” Solo supplies. “And not to mention it because it’s the least he can do for you all.”

 

She blinks away the moisture in her eyes as the Wookie exits the room after giving her shoulder a firm squeeze. Solo turns to follow his friend but Jyn calls out to stop him, “Wait! Why did you do this?”

 

The man stops in the doorway and half turns to face her. He shrugs. “I figure you guys have lost enough. And Andor in particular. Plus he’s given me a lot to think about so I wanted to give him something back—I hate owing people. And besides, everyone needs their copilot.”

 

Chewbacca calls something from out in the hallway and Solo smiles. “Damn right, buddy. I can’t do anything without you.”

 

“But,” Jyn stammers, searching for word. “How?”

 

The man’s smile turns into a smirk. “It’s what I do. I am a smuggler after all.” And he’s gone.

 

Left alone with only the shell of a droid, she turns to the hulking object and shakily removes K2’s backup from behind a few books on her shelf. She opens the port in the droid’s head and is about to insert the disc, hoping beyond hope that it works, that it hasn’t been corrupted and that the droid circuitry accepts it, but she stops. _When was this backup made? Was it before or after K2 met me?_ she ponders. Given that there was very little time between them landing on Yavin and then taking off for Scarif, she thinks the odds are high that this backup predates her acquaintance with the droid. Add to that the fact that initially K2 was somewhat hostile to her, and she wonders whether it’s a good idea to try booting the droid up now, with only her in the room. If K2 comes online to a complete stranger in an unknown environment, well, she wouldn’t blame him for whatever actions followed.

 

Instead, she tucks the disc back onto her shelf and exits the room. Her shift on watch is about to start and Cassian will be back in the next few hours; he should be the one to reboot K2. He’d known the droid far longer than she had.

 

*

 

Cassian returns that afternoon just as scheduled and just as he’d promised. His voice comes on over the radio, informing them of his approach and his mission’s success, and just like that, her nerves settle and a smile slips onto her face. She gives him the clearance code and which bay to fly to, then tells him, “Welcome home, Captain.”

 

She can hear his answering grin over the radio. “No place I’d rather be.”

 

She finds him waiting for her outside of the control room’s door three hours later, sitting on the hallway floor going over something or other on his digital device—briefings, future mission plans, she doesn’t know. Her heart warms as he looks up to meet her eyes and a smile immediately lights up his face.

 

Leia told her a few days ago that she’s seen Cassian smile more in the past few weeks than she has ever seen in her years of friendship with him. It’s humbling and a little scary for Jyn, knowing that she’s the reason why—or at least, that’s what Leia heavily implied. It thrills Jyn to know that she’s been able to keep her silent promise to him, to give him reason to smile more. And it scares her because she knows, with a few careless words, she could hurt him deeply. She never wants to do that, but it’s in her nature to be volatile. That’s something Cassian understands, though, and thus far he’s done a good job of seeing past her prickly shell whenever she raises her shields on instinct. She has hope that he will continue to do so, but she won’t allow herself to rely on that. It wouldn’t be fair to him if she forced him to always read between the lines, so she counsels herself never to lash out in anger: words spoken in anger take only a few moments to tear down what they’ve built between them for days upon weeks upon months. 

 

With these thoughts and new promises to herself swirling in her head, she slides down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and entwines her hand with his. “You could have come in to say hello.”

 

“Nah, I didn’t want to distract you from important work.”

 

They sit in silence a moment, before she squeezes his hand and murmurs, “There’s something I need to show you.”

 

He turns his head to look at her, an unidentifiable tone in her voice giving away that “something” is far from ordinary. He smiles hesitantly before getting to his feet and extending his hand to her. “Okay.”

 

It eases her soul seeing him move so easily. Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to sink to the floor and return to his feet, and now he does so with ease. His stance and hand are strong when she places hers in his and allows him to pull her to her feet.

 

She stays silent as they wind their way towards her room, partly so she doesn’t burst out with the surprise and partly because she’s deathly afraid she’s about to get his hopes up only to dash them if the droid doesn’t accept the file.

 

He keeps eyeing her suspiciously, until he finally breaks the silence. “You’re acting…” he searches for a word, before huffing and settling on, “weird. What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

 

She almost rolls her eyes. _Of course his first thought is everyone else’s well-being!_ She just nods, not trusting herself to speak.

 

When they finally reach her room, she gestures to the door. “After you.”

 

He stares at her a long moment, brow furrowed, trying to understand what this is all about, before he finally cues the door to open, eyes still on her, then steps into the room. She can tell the moment his eyes land on the droid even though all she can see is his back, because he freezes. She doesn’t even see him breathe.

 

He remains silent for so long, body blocking the doorway so she can’t sneak by to get a glimpse of his face, that she worries maybe this was not a good idea. Finally, “Jyn,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “what is this?”

 

She walks up to him and gently pushes him forward into the room, giving herself clearance to move around his still figure so that she can face him.

 

“This,” she gestures to the droid, “is what I wanted to show you.”

 

She twists and pulls the disc off of her shelves, then turns slowly back to Cassian and places it in his hands.

 

His eyes widen and he swallows. “I thought I’d lost it,” he murmurs, hands trembling. “Kay was always so paranoid that I would screw it up or damage it, I just thought I’d finally proved the pessimist right.”

 

Jyn stares at him in surprise and then in horror. _You stupid idiot!_ she yells at herself. _Of course he would notice it’s missing! Of course he would blame himself and think there was no hope of ever seeing K2 again!_ Aloud she gasps, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking!” she grasps his hands and forces him to look at her. “I found the disc on Yavin and wanted so desperately to give you something back that I took it thinking I could construct a new body for K2. I never thought about the fact that you would think you’d lost it! I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to give you false hope!”

 

He stares at her for a long moment and she fears that at any moment his look of stunned reverence will fade and that he’ll turn away from her in disgust, but _of course_ he doesn’t. He’s Cassian. He sees right through her. “This is why you were so upset that night, why you avoided me for a whole day, isn’t it? Because none of our circuitry could handle the Imperial format.”

 

 _How the hell does he remember that and immediately connect it to this?_ she wonders, continually surprised by him, before she bites her lip and nods. “I got so discouraged that I had to give up, but Leia found out about my predicament and issued classified orders for pilots to be on the lookout for an opportunity to obtain an Imperial droid and, for some inexplicable reason, Han Solo dispatched himself and brought it back today.”

 

Cassian’s gaze turns thoughtful. “So that’s why he left,” he mutters to himself.

 

“What?” she asks, confused.

 

He shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

 

“I’m so sorry for not telling you! I can’t believe that I caused you so much pain when I was only trying to keep from hurting you… please don’t be mad!”

 

“Mad?” Cassian echoes in disbelief. “Jyn, for the love of the Force how could I be mad? You’ve given me back one of my best friends. I cannot even begin to thank you enough.”

 

She blushes at that. “Well, it was a group effort, really, and Solo’s the one that actually got the droid, so it’s him you should thank, but I’m not even sure the droid will work. Solo claimed it’s in perfect condition but I didn’t want to risk booting K2 up without you here—I’d prefer to keep myself intact and uninjured.”

 

The man smiles at her and it’s a full smile that reaches his eyes and lights her heart. “A wise decision. And thank you, again.”

 

He moves to the droid slumped against the wall and opens the port before sliding the disc in. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters, letting out a breath and stepping back.

 

A low hum fills the room and the droid’s eyes begin to glow. A moment later, mechanical whirring sounds as the droid comes online and begins adjusting circuits and limbs, automatically running a diagnostic.

 

The droid sits there for a moment, blue eyes staring at the floor, before the glowing orbs snap upwards and immediately land on Cassian.

 

“Cassian, it’s cold. Why is it so cold that my circuits are shorting? Yavin 4 has no business being this cold.”

 

Cassian stares at the droid in wonder and happiness, managing only to say, “That’s because we’re not on Yavin 4 anymore, Kay.”

 

The droid looks from Cassian to Jyn—lingering on her for several moments, analyzing her, probably—and back. “I take it that, because this woman is grinning just as stupidly as you are, she must know me and yet my records give me no indication that I know her,” Kay observes critically. “Add to that the fact that I somehow went from Yavin 4 to here—wherever “here” is—without knowing it and without record of a shutdown—and you promised never to shut me down manually, ever since that incident three years ago that we swore never to speak of again—and I surmise that you successfully used my backup drive without screwing up. Well, I guess miracles really do happen,” the droid comments snarkily.

 

“Correct!” Cassian confirms, ignoring his friend’s sarcasm and moving forward to throw his arms around the droid.

 

Kay leans back, clearly puzzled, before awkwardly patting the man on the back. “You’re hugging me. Why are you hugging me? Why in the _galaxy_ are you hugging me?! You never hug me…” the droid utters a gasp, “Does this mean I died!?”

 

“Correct again, Kay,” Cassian answers, tightening his arms around the droid before, stepping backwards to give Kay space. “You were an absolute hero,” he states earnestly.

 

The droid stares at him, expression unreadable, until he cocks his head slightly. “Huh, how stupid of me. What was I thinking?”

 

“You were thinking like a true Rebel, Kay,” Cassian informs him, grinning ear to ear, before sobering slightly. “I’m only sorry it took so long to get you back, but like I’ve always promised, I don’t leave the people I care about behind.” His eyes meet Jyn’s, then, and they convey more promises, more hopes and dreams, more love than she thought a single gaze could ever hold. They’ve begun a journey and she cannot wait to see where they go. Together.

 

“Wait,” Kay speaks up suspiciously, rising to his full height. “What was that look between you two just now.”

 

Cassian looks away from Jyn and up towards his friend, smirking. “Kay, you’re the one that’s always reminding me how smart you are and how efficiently your analytical programs run. Figure it out.”

 

“What?!” Kay demands, miffed. “No!”

  
Cassian only chuckles and turns away, ushering Jyn out of the room ahead of him.

 

“Hey! Cassian!” Kay shouts from behind him, “what was the meaning of that look!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I considered making it a cliffhanger of some sort that led directly into the sequel, but I decided that would be too cruel... Instead I did my best to tie up all of the loose ends and make everyone happy, at least for now :D There's a lot angst and hurt in store for them in the sequel, but I'll be sure to throw some fluff in there too!
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for sharing your thoughts, your words of encouragement, appreciation and support!


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